Kind of Blue

11/19/2024

Suspended 70 feet above ground, Salesforce Park is a lush green oasis amid sky-high buildings in downtown San Francisco. The verdant 5.4-acre park that crowns the Salesforce Transit Center that used to be Transbay Terminal from 1939 to 2010.

Living in a small town north of New York City offers many delightful moments. This is especially true if you get to know people well enough to learn their first names, even if their last names remain a mystery.

I had the most enchanting conversation tonight with Elizabeth, the Mexican woman who runs the 99-cent store on Main Street where nothing is 99-cents at all but a lot more, about our love for our grandparents and the survival skills they possessed, which seem to be lost to our generation.

Then, one of my acquaintances walked in, all macho and nonchalant. This is because he, like most Latin men, doesn't want his secrets revealed, as if I knew what that's supposed to mean. I guess I do, but I don't really care to hide in a closet. It's no surprise that I'm frustrated with them. A Peekskill story should be under development for the next manuscript. And who will be murdered?

He joined our conversation and shared how fortunate we were to have known our grandparents, unlike him, who never met his in Puerto Rico. He had mentioned this to me before, but we hadn't discussed it with someone else, which made it interesting. Furthermore, he disclosed that he was a premature baby, delivered by C-section, weighing no more than 2 pounds, small enough to fit in his mother's palm. This revelation touched Elizabeth deeply, and she exclaimed, "It's a miracle of God that you're here. See how God works..."

As I made an urgent excuse to leave, he said he would call me later. I was indifferent to whether he would call or not, as I was eager to return to writing and made no plans to see or chat with anyone. I left them and headed to Latin Deli to see Danny and pick up a few items. After leaving a beer for Mr. Macho and man keeping Danny company, the man, a mature Dominican man said I was an admirable man. I smiled, thanked him, wished them goodnight and disappeared.

In Chapter 11, Precious May has undergone transformation. While strolling down Central Avenue, I encountered a woman with fiery red hair, electric blue eyes, very pale with freckles across her face. She was lovely, alluring and gentle, which inspired me to reimagine her as Precious May, culminating the chapter with a dramatic twist. Having revised Precious May, I've moved on to Chapter 12, set in an African American bar named Cuddles, formerly located in the old Transbay Terminal, which is now Salesforce Transit Center. Cuddles in Transbay Terminal is the setting for Zeno Eliot's clandestine meeting with Travis Weatherford, unbeknownst to Abel.

CHAPTER 12 draft (Cuddles)

Zeno disembarked from the #14Mission bus at the Transbay Terminal, weaving through the throng of commuters boarding buses home to various East Bay cities and suburbs. Making his way to the Fremont Street exit, he located Cuddles, a discreet bar in San Francisco that remained unknown to many.

Inside, the bar boasted an eclectic mix of vintage furniture and dim lighting that created an intimate atmosphere. A hidden door led to a speakeasy-style lounge where patrons could enjoy craft cocktails made with rare spirits. The walls were decorated with local artwork, contributing to the bar's enigmatic allure, with many patrons sharing his African American heritage. Locating Travis was straightforward; he was seated in a rear booth, distinguishable as one of the few white individuals present.

As Zeno slid into the booth opposite Travis, the conversation naturally steered toward their shared passion for each other and the jazz music playing. Zeno hesitated, unsure if it was safe to kiss Travis here, but he did so anyway. Travis reassured him that it was indeed safe. After all, they were in San Francisco and not Kansas anymore, and at this realization, they laughed. The barmaid, a graceful woman with glowing chocolate-hued skin, came over and took their orders for a cocktail crafted with premium spirits and enriched with herbs, she assured them it would be delectable...

"I hope someday we won't have to sneak around at all," Travis responded.

"Me too," Zeno replied thoughtfully, recalling his conversation with Zaide that had piqued his interest in Abel's will. He pondered his potential inheritance, something he had never considered before, as he had never envisioned Abel's death. It had seemed so improbable, yet it was inevitable for Abel, as it was for everyone born of a woman. He viewed Abel as a steadfast figure in his life, someone who seemed invincible. Their relationship was complex, filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. Student and teacher in a union he had reluctantly agreed to because of his financial situation, which made the thought of Abel's absence even more daunting. The prospect of an inheritance now forced him to confront the reality of Abel's mortality and the changes it would bring to his own life. Maybe his passing would unlock new opportunities, allowing him and Travis to be together in one place. He had acquired so much: his studio, a spacious house with Abel; indeed, he was wealthy if Abel was by his side. However, everything changed when he met Travis Weatherford. For the first time in his life, he found himself deeply in love with the person who sat before him, someone who wasn’t rich and gently touching his hand.

"A penny for your thoughts?" asked Travis.

"There's so much to consider."

"You're going to tell him, aren't you? That we are lovers and plan to stay together?" Travis wanted to express more since they had not thoroughly discussed it such as Clarence's passing from a terminal illness from a disturbing new sexual disease. Now, he harbored fears of being diagnosed with the same illness that had taken Clarence's life, as they had spent six years together. If he was infected, had contracted it, their time together would be limited. He wished for Zeno to comprehend that, regardless of whether he chose to flee or remain, their bond was fundamentally anchored in love and care.

As the jazz quartet played Miles Davis’s 'Kind of Blue: All Blues', tears welled up in Zeno's eyes as he looked at Travis, coinciding with the barmaid's arrival carrying their cocktails. She set them down on the table and smiled warmly at Zeno. He gave her a shy smile and returned his gaze to Travis. They both knew that something special was happening between them. After Travis raised his glass to toast to their future, Zeno halted, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to speak. However, the words escaped him. Eventually, he managed a weak "To our future," his glass chiming faintly against Travis’s. “Wait a minute," Zeno persisted, noticing a man staring at them. He was the only other white face in the bar and bore an uncanny resemblance to Abel. He placed his glass on the table, "That man," he whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. He couldn't shake the feeling it was Abel.

Travis traced Zeno's line of sight. "Which man?" he inquired, intrigued by the similarity. The man met their gaze, then hastened away. Disturbed as Zeno was, especially since Jerry Adkisson had cautioned him about the peril of crossing Abel, Travis sipped his drink. "He bore a striking resemblance to Abel," he admitted.

Zeno nodded, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest as he considered whether Abel was already aware of their affair. If that were the case, secrecy with Travis would be unnecessary. However, if Abel was not involved, they were dealing with an undisclosed motive.

"Maybe, it was Abel."

"But that can't be,” Zeno said. “Abel should be at Lake Tahoe with Zaide for the weekend."

Travis felt a chill run down his spine as he considered the implications. If the man wasn't Abel, it could mean that someone else was trying to impersonate him, possibly for malicious reasons. The idea of a potential threat lurking nearby made him uneasy, and he wondered if they should alert Abel or the police about the strange encounter. Glancing over, he caught the barmaid's attention and signaled for another round of the same craft cocktail, along with two shots of Scotch.