Chapter Two. Another cup of coffee felt as necessary as oxygen, so Beth found a parking space a few blocks east of Castro Street

Another cup of coffee felt as necessary as oxygen, so Beth found a parking space a few blocks east of Castro Street. The neighborhood was typical, rehabbed Victorian houses standing shoulder to shoulder with apartment buildings in the economy of space that was San Francisco. The façades were elaborate and the color schemes characteristic of the city. Many windows and porches displayed the rainbow flag, symbolizing gay unity.

It was Friday morning and most people were leaving for work. Beth walked down Liberty Street, relishing the warmth of the air in contrast to Fisherman’s Wharf. People scurried to their cars, waved and kissed each other good-bye, walked dogs, and jogged past her. Beth unbuttoned her jacket, wishing she could take a run herself after hours jammed behind a steering wheel. Even in her haste to pack, she had remembered the most important items, her running clothes and shoes.

But the relief of a long, serenity-inducing run would have to wait. She needed to find a room, and even before that, she was headed for more java. A quick fix. She looked up at the layer of fog that hung over the city, and something close to a smile hovered at her lips. She was definitely not in Los Angeles. Gone was the knot in her stomach. The throb in her head was little more than a twinge. And she could breathe deeply for the first time in months.

Beth stepped inside a coffeehouse on Castro and ordered a double espresso. Her mouth had been ready for a cappuccino, but just as she started to give her order, a sharp spasm of anguish racked her chest and she hurried to choose the strongest potion available, hoping to quell the hurt.

As she sipped the earthy blend, she swore that vile word.

“Stephanie.”

Ten minutes later, her nerves steeled, she left the thick warmth of the coffeehouse and paused just outside the door. The sun was brighter than it had seemed when she hastened indoors, but the wind howled through her jacket and rattled a steel trash can next to her. A young man with a beautiful face, and fingers scratching his stubble, turned to smile at her. She smiled back, knowing his gesture was not a proposition of dalliance but an acknowledgment of their gay lifestyle. She felt comforted by that. For some, as small as it was, the Castro was a whole world, the encapsulation of all its inhabitants sought to make it: a safe haven, a lively bender, a political zone, a home. Right now, Beth thought she might want the Castro to be all those things.

She spent the next hour roaming up and down the streets. Ducking into clothing stores and jewelry shops, she explored and revisited. She wandered wherever a sign or a window display would take her. There was no calculated path, no mission. But somewhere in the deep recesses of her unconscious, masquerading as impulsiveness, she found herself charting a course though familiar ground. Without questioning the perception, she turned up a side street and walked the block and a half to a violet-and-yellow house. She stopped dead in front of the tall Victorian and gazed up toward the topmost dormer window.

Suddenly she was in that bedroom, with Stephanie, on one of their famous weekend getaways. A friend of Stephanie’s was planning to be out of town and had offered the place to them, mailing a key. They’d driven up that day, spontaneous in their decision to flee normalcy. After a candlelit dinner on the Castro, they’d giggled all the way back to the house and stood kissing just inside the foyer.

Beth could still feel Stephanie’s warmth coursing through her. She’d wanted her as she always did, stroking her spine and moving down around her backside to squeeze her cheeks.

“Mmm.” Stephanie’s whispers floated through time. “You always make me want you.” She nibbled Beth’s neck, pulling at her earlobe.

When they finally paused in their kisses, Beth led her upstairs. A shaft of moonlight painted the bedroom in gold, mingling with the flicker of a black-and-white movie they’d left playing on the television. Beth stopped Stephanie at the couch and kissed her again, gently pushing her down.

A pirate mutiny was being played out on the television. Distant, muted battle cries punctuated a dramatic score that raged on as Beth and Stephanie moved together on the couch. Beth was aroused beyond her sense of command, edging past the ability to control herself. With each moan from Stephanie, her chest felt as if it were swirling away.

Four or five commercial breaks later, the television treason still in its throes, Beth was under Stephanie. Though the windows were open and a damp breeze graced the room, they were wet with their own excitement. Beth laid her head back over the edge of the couch. Stephanie bent to her, running her tongue up her neck. Beth tilted up to meet her mouth and Stephanie reached a hand to the floor for support as she held Beth half off the couch. They finally slid onto the floor without ending their kiss, and Stephanie made love to her in an unhurried, slow rhythm.

As Beth broke through the first waves of arousal, she whispered, “God, I want you.”

She had her arms over her head and was clutching the corner of the woven rug underneath her. Stephanie was between her legs, arms wrapped around Beth’s thighs. Her mouth drove Beth insane. She could feel those lips trailing kisses along her inner thighs as she swelled and got unbearably wetter. She lifted her hips and felt the weight of Stephanie’s upper body. The sensation was powerful. She inhaled deeply and pulled at the rug, trying to relax. Part of her was racing toward orgasm, the rest trying to savor what Stephanie was doing. That constant push/pull drove her crazy every time they made love. She always wanted to come as soon as she felt Stephanie’s breath between her legs, all the while trying to slow down and enjoy.

Whether it had been hours or minutes, Beth wasn’t sure, staring up at that room now, years later. Deep down, in the back of her mind, she was still reeling from the shocking joy of that encounter, dragged back to the place only Stephanie could take her. She could remember almost nothing else about that weekend, or others like it. All she could focus on was the memory of their bodies, the feeling of Stephanie’s hair as her cheeks brushed the insides of her thighs. Beth remembered gazing down at her and placing her hands around the back of Stephanie’s head. Arching against her, she fell deep into a rapture she could barely hang on to.

It was incredible. The waves inside her grew until she could not longer resist or delay and was overcome with contractions. She moaned with each spasm, groping for something to hang on to. Stephanie matched her bucking, holding on to her frenzy until her gasping slowed, then she moved up the length of Beth’s body and buried her face in her neck.

“My God,” Beth whispered, breathing in slow heaves, marveling at the sensation she’d just been given. She closed her eyes and kissed Stephanie’s shoulder. “What are you doing to me?”

“Hopefully making you feel good.”

“Good is not the word.”

They’d lain there for a while, holding each other.

Beth stroked the hair at Stephanie’s temple and looked into her eyes. “I love you so much. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here until we grow old.”

“I think that’s a perfect idea,” Stephanie said. “Then no one could bother us.”

“We say this every time we go out of town, don’t we?” Beth whispered.

Stephanie smiled. “Yes, we do. But there’s nothing wrong with that. I want you all to myself.”

All to myself. All to myself. Those last words rang in Beth’s ears as she blinked at the dormer window. Filled with misery, she whispered, “If you had only meant it, Stephanie.”

How quickly passion and love had turned into pain and deceit. She stumbled away from the memory of that night, turning up another street and walking blindly past cars and houses and people who seemed to have wonderful lives. As she roamed around the Castro, she questioned whether coming to San Francisco had been such a great idea. The day suddenly felt colder, or perhaps the chill was internal. Stopping at the intersection of Hancock and Noe, she craned upward to contemplate the fog bank moving stalwartly toward the east. Wouldn’t it be nice to hop a ride and float on that hazy gray quilt to some far-off land whose laws forbade pain and suffering, lying and cheating, deceit and manipulation? Well, at least to a place where there were no painful memories stored, and where everyone left her alone.

Or maybe she’d just drive over to Sausalito.

Beth laughed out loud, marveling at the madness that coursed nonstop through her tortured mind of late. She hugged her sweater closer to her body and continued walking. Maybe a little insanity was what she needed. It would numb like an anesthetic, tempering pain and confusion, and allowing her a sense of calmness and serenity, however false.

As she sauntered through the neighborhood, her spirits began to lift. The houses she passed were colorfully resplendent, each a neat and tidy expression of someone’s personality. It was obvious that their owners took great pride in how they were decorated and kept up, and not simply because real estate in this part of San Francisco was very valuable.

Beth had always liked this city; it had such character and ambience. Her parents had brought her here many times. She remembered playing in Golden Gate Park, running the length of Fisherman’s Wharf, and walking the streets of Chinatown. And when she was old enough to drive, she’d made many trips, mostly with friends, sometimes with lovers. Every trip felt familiar and comfortable as she rediscovered her favorite neighborhoods again and again, witnessing their changes over the years. Even the pangs she’d just felt remembering Stephanie and the violet-and-yellow Victorian didn’t quell her love of the city.

A slight smile broke across her lips as she thought about that. In San Francisco, she could feel at home yet leave behind so much she didn’t want to drag around anymore. If she wanted a new beginning, she couldn’t think of a better place to make a start. She could see herself living here, even being happy here. One day. Sometime. She had to believe she wouldn’t always feel this way. Sorrows passed. People survived. Wounds healed.

She paused to get her bearings, staring up at a huge, old house on the corner. It sat stoically, painted white with light blue trim. It looked to have many rooms, with rainbow flags flapping from half of them. A sign caught her eye. In big, bold letters it read Room for Rent. By Week or Month. Own Bathroom. See Alder Beckman.

Spontaneity, Beth knew, was sometimes born from the need to eliminate pain, driving people to do something, anything, as long as it offered change. She had intended, all along, to return to Fisherman’s Wharf to find a hotel, but instead she walked up the steps of the old house and rang the doorbell. As she waited for an answer, she accepted that she was acting on instinct and that very few of her recent actions were dictated by sensible planning or conscious decisions. But what she did realize was that she was smack-dab in the middle of some sort of subconscious trek.

Leaving Los Angeles without proper packing or planning, ending up in San Francisco well before the race she’d entered, on this doorstep at this moment in time, didn’t make much sense. And the fact that she had no idea what to expect and, moreover, that it didn’t matter, was unusual, to say the least. Beth was okay with the unpredictable, up to a point, but she’d never handed her fate over to chance this way.

As the doorknob creaked counterclockwise, she gave herself the option to turn around and march back the way she came. But her feet stayed where they were and she decided that whatever adventure lay ahead was better than anything back home.

A woman of about fifty smiled from the threshold. She was tall and thin with wisps of gray hair flowing through a long, auburn mane. “Yes?”

“I was wondering about the sign you have up there in the window.” Beth smiled.

“Well, there’s one room. It’s small, but it has its own bathroom.”

Beth absorbed the relevant details. $500 per week or $1800 by the month. Renovated. Clean. She was almost ready to say no before the woman waved a welcoming arm.

“Come on in off the stoop.”

Beth followed her into a beautifully decorated living room. Thick Berber carpet covered the large expanse of room. A tapestry couch sat against the front wall. Beyond this, a large picture window offered a view of the front street. An antique mahogany piano dominated the side wall and an arched opening led to a dining room. The dining room opened into an ivy-filled solarium.

“Sit.” The woman gestured toward the couch. “I’m Alder Beckman. I own the place.”

Beth shook her hand. “I’m Beth. You have a beautiful house.”

“Thank you. It’s been a lot of work. Where are you from?”

“Los Angeles.”

“How is the City of Angels?”

“It’s five hundred miles away.”

Adler scanned Beth’s face, then cracked a smile. “Yes, it is. Well, are you looking for a long-term or short-term situation?”

“Short term. I just needed to get away from L.A. I’m running the Half Marathon in two weeks.”

“It’s a popular race. You’ll enjoy it.”

“I hadn’t really intended to come up this early, but the idea of staying a little while sounds pretty good.”

Beth didn’t know why she felt she could open up to this woman. She’d just met her. The fact that she was a total stranger did make it easier. Alder had a wiser-than-her-years look in her eyes. Beth liked that.

“Well, there are nine of us in the other five bedrooms,” Alder said. “The people who live here are longtimers. It’s a pretty good group. They like the break on their rent when that small room is rented.”

“May I see the room?”

Alder jumped to her feet. “Sure. This way.”

Beth followed her up an immense staircase, extra wide and so solid in its construction that there was not one creak. There were two bedrooms at the first landing.

“Everyone’s at work right now,” Alder said. “But this is Keith’s room and that’s Gina and Diane’s room.” She led Beth up the next flight. “The rest of us are up here.”

She pointed out the bedrooms on the third floor landing and named the renters. Beth immediately gave up trying to remember who was where. She would have an easier time remembering names once she could see their faces.

Alder paused near the end of the hall. “My room’s here.”

Beth glanced around. “And the room for rent?”

Alder gestured into her own room. “Right here with me, in my room, sweetie.”

Beth blinked, which caused Alder to laugh a deep belly laugh. It was the kind of laugh that immediately warmed others. It came from deep inside a happy, contented soul.

“I’m joking.” Alder recovered. “Anyway, it’s much funnier when I use that line on the straight women that come around. Come on, follow me.”

At the far end of the hallway, Alder opened a door that Beth had originally thought was a closet. But when Alder pulled on a dangling light chain, she could see a narrow staircase that led upward to a smaller, fourth floor. The musty smell of timeworn mahogany filled her nostrils as she ascended to the top of the staircase, where a small attic room with an even smaller bathroom awaited, patient and unassuming. It felt demure but tranquil.

“The room’s tiny, but it’s private.” Alder walked to the only window, which faced the street. “You can just catch a glimpse of…well, mostly rooftops and fog. But there’s fresh air, nevertheless.”

A pine-framed queen bed dominated the room, its headboard at the window. On it lay a teal and purple patchwork quilt. There was a dresser against the left wall, a small closet on the right, and a rocking chair in one corner. The middle of the oak-slatted floor was covered with a rug that was well past its prime but still thick enough to counter drafts.

“It’s very cute,” Beth said. “I’d like to stay for a week.” She would move to a hotel closer to the race the second week.

Alder smiled. “Great. Cash is better than a check.”

“Cash is fine. Do you need an ID from me or anything?”

“I’ll get it later. I like to have everyone’s names and addresses, but as far as security goes,” Alder paused for drama, “I don’t think you’re the bad type.”

“You’re a trusting soul.”

Alder held up a finger. “I’m a good reader of character.” With that, she traded a front door key for Beth’s money and said, “If you want to go get your stuff, I’ll make coffee. Or do you prefer tea?”

Beth smiled. “Coffee, thank you.”

After she’d parked her car closer, she retrieved her hastily packed duffel bag. By the time she got back upstairs to the room, Alder had placed fresh towels on the bed. As Beth began unpacking, she heard footsteps on the stairs and Alder entered with two mugs in hand.

“Takes the chill off, opens the eyeballs.” She handed Beth a mug and sipped from the other. “I wanted to let you know a few things. There’s no maid service, so the sheets and towels are your responsibility. The washer is downstairs on the back porch, through the kitchen. Everyone buys his or her own detergent. And the regular stuff applies. Eat what you buy. Throw away or recycle what you’re done with. Oh, and yes, I don’t know if this is good luck or bad timing for you, but the Coop’s having a party tomorrow night. Of course, you’re very welcome, but don’t feel obligated to attend.”

Puzzled, Beth asked, “The Coop?”

Alder chuckled. “That’s what everyone calls this place. Anyway, every few months we throw a party, and if you’re feeling up to it, it’s usually quite fun…if not totally amusing.” She started for the door. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair now. Seems like you might want some privacy.”

Beth was about to disagree, mostly because she was raised by polite parents who taught their children to be just as polite, but Alder was already departing down the stairs.

Beth spent most of the rest of the day lying on the bed. Face up, she stared at the ceiling and let her thoughts roam. She found herself strangely soothed by the noises of the house, creaks in the walls, muffled talk, a faraway washer and dryer. People entered the front door. There was laughter and the sound of clunking up and down the stairs.

She must have fallen asleep for a few hours because when she woke up, the light in her room had faded and she could hear increased activity throughout the house. To her surprise she was hungry. Recently, she’d lost her appetite and sometimes skipped meals for days in a row. Tonight, however, she was tempted by the thought of food.

Beth pulled on a clean pair of jeans and went downstairs, trying to decide what she felt like, a snack or a serious meal. On her way out, she stopped by the living room and met a few of the Coop residents, two women, both around thirty years old, and a man more firmly rooted in his twenties. They were on the floor, putting together final touches on an elaborate sign.

One of the woman looked up from her handiwork. “You’re Beth?” At Beth’s nod, she said, “I’m Judy and this is my wife, Fran.”

Beth recalled that they shared the room across from Alder.

“This is Keith.”

The young man flashed a bright white, toothy grin.

Beth gestured toward the sign, genuinely curious. “What are you working on?”

“Keith was commissioned to come up with an AIDS awareness poster. We’re just helping with the last details. It’s due tomorrow.”

Keith resumed cutting some scrap paper. “Judy, I didn’t know you were my spokesperson. You yap more than any of the queens I know.”

Judy teased back, “That’s not possible. If it weren’t for your scuttlebutt network, no one would have any gossip.”

Fran shook her head. “I can see I’m going to have to separate you two again if we ever want to get this done. So Beth, what do you think of the poster?”

Keith held it up. Four condoms stood erect, side by side. Each was a different neon color. Blue, red, yellow, and green. The wording read I come in colors, do you?

“Think it’s too subtle?” he asked.

Beth laughed. “It’s a great idea. You sure got the message across.”

“Are you off to dinner?” Fran asked.

“Could you hear my stomach growling?”

Judy chimed in. “I thought that was just Keith’s brain coming up with another idea.”

Keith raised a scissored hand and dismissed everyone with a wave. “Thank you, thank you. Yes, they do come rather frequently.”

“Any café suggestions?” Beth queried.

It was Judy who volunteered, “There’s a great Mexican restaurant three blocks down Seacliff Avenue. And there’s a coffee shop on Brand, one block before Castro.”

Beth opened the front door as she thanked them, saying she’d try the coffee shop.

Fran called, “Welcome to the Coop!”