Story by J.J. Krause

Cascade is a serialized satire about four Seattleites –– a failed homosexual, a crypto-obsessed mom, a party-girl-turned-caretaker, and an unorthodox professor, all trying to hold it together in a world coming apart. Catch updates every few weeks on the Capitol Hill Seattle Blog. Want to skip ahead? Get the book.

A strange menagerie of half-naked, half-impaired Seattleites were suspended on a rough patch of grass sloping uneasily into the lake. They called it “the Beach.”

Madison Park Beach
Wearing pink shorts popular with gays in the mid 2000s, Dave marched to the lake, up and over another hill. With long legs and a reluctance to pay for non-essential services, he walked most places. The trek to Madison Park was one of his favorites; he loved letting the imaginary sense of security wash over him as he passed the meticulous homes. He would scrutinize the landscaping of each—is there all-season interest? Are these plants appropriately sited? How often do the gardeners come?

But the most interesting part was the bizarre contradiction where Madison Street came to an end. Beyond the commercial strip, where retired women shopped for Le Creuset mugs and hybrid-electric SUVs shuttled equity-rich young families to brunch, the scene came into view: a strange menagerie of half-naked, half-impaired Seattleites, suspended on a rough patch of grass sloping uneasily into the lake. They called it “the Beach.”

These were not neighborhood residents. From all over the city they congregated at this particular spot, an arrangement based on tradition and lack-of-police-enforcement. Some lounged on towels, some reclined in foldable chairs, and some—often in speedos—were standing, perhaps to get a better view of the mountain, or perhaps to offer a view of their own.

From the top of the knoll, Dave spotted the Matts—two former twinks sprawled on Mexican blankets. He meandered through the crowd toward them.

“She made it!” said Little Matt, jumping up, “Happy Birthday! What perfect weather! How does it feel?”

“Feels like another drought year,” deadpanned Dave.

“Oh, come on, Dave—don’t be a Debbie Downer. The others are on the way. Jimmy made jello shots, and Blake is bringing his red velvet cake.”

“Yum,” said Dave, trying not to think of the last time they had Blake’s red velvet cake—the bad oysters… the white carpet…

The other Matt, Big Matt, raised his eyebrows, seemingly reading Dave’s mind. He went by Flores, and he was indeed bigger; his speedo was struggling to contain him. He was rapidly transitioning into a “cub” on his way to bearhood, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

They’d chosen a spot next to a different species—a flock of bronzed Insta-hunks in Charlie speedos. It seemed unlikely they’d enjoyed cake in some time. Have those bodies been hidden under chunky sweaters all winter? Dave wondered.

While not opposed to pectorals, Dave wished they’d sat next to bears. Bears were easier. More cake-friendly. As he began disrobing, he felt the gaze of eyes. Given his height, this ritualistic moment—the reveal—was visible to all. He attempted a strip-tease of sorts, but as he lifted his shirt, his head got caught in the neck hole. He knocked his sunglasses off and nearly crushed them. Clumsily stepping out of his shorts, he exposed an ill-fitting speedo from Amazon. Onlookers seemed to yawn.

Luckily, he’d already applied sunscreen, eliminating that act from the show. He laid out his towel and ducked down.

“What’s new? Any scandals?” said Little Matt.

“Nothing. Trying not to think about work tomorrow.”

“This will help,” said Flores, pouring warm rosé into a Solo cup, “You go out last night?”
“No, I took it easy,” said Dave, omitting the fact that he binge watched BBC’s Gardeners’ World.
“We went to Jake and Mike’s. You should’ve come! I brought chili.”

“How was it?”

“The chili? I’m not sure anyone could taste it… we drank six bottles of wine. We had to Uber home.”

Dave smiled and tried to hide his JOMO (“joy of missing out”). He preferred Monty Don to Jake and Mike. And he was glad he was spared a hangover.

He looked around and vaguely recognized people—always the case. Did they shake hands at a house party? Wearing earplugs, did they scream their names over the bass at Cuff five years ago?

“Oh, look there,” said Flores, “Isn’t that AJ? Looks like he’s with Braden.”

The trio craned their necks up the slope. Two figures were moving toward them. Dave took a gulp of rosé.

AJ made his way downhill, stopping every six feet for cheek-kisses and chit-chats. He was wearing white Versace “swim briefs” and a Greek-patterned, semi-sheer shawl draped over his shoulders. A golden earring dangled on one side of his head. Behind him trailed Braden, wearing a green speedo and carrying a beat-up paperback. Dave did a double-take. Is the book a prop? he wondered.

They arrived at last. “Well look who it is,” howled AJ, rushing up to the Matts, “fancy seeing you here!” They exchanged theatrical kisses.

“What a day! The beginning!” said AJ triumphantly, “all the whores are out!”

He realized Dave was present. “Hi honey!” They attempted a cheek-kiss, as AJ tried to avoid getting Dave’s zinc oxide on his face.

Dave waved to Braden, but Braden’s eyes were pulled toward the hunks.

“What’s the tea? What’s the goss? What are the scandals with The Matts?” said AJ, “I hear you bought a house? How domestic!”

“Just a little townhouse in the CD,” Little Matt said, “we’ll have to have you over.”

“A West Elm moment? A roof deck? Gay neighbors?”

The Matts nodded. Dave winced out of sight.

“All of it? The dream!” exclaimed AJ, “you’re a lucky duo. Not many in this city can afford to get in the market.”

The Matts glanced at each other. “Yeah… it’s crazy.”

“Insane and getting worse. The corporate power is strong,” said AJ, a recruiter at Amazon, “and developer greed knows no limits.”

“Totally,” said a Matt.

“It’s disgusting when you think about it. And now the city council is debating homeless sweeps. Barbaric stuff… meanwhile renters get swept out by predatory landlords and ‘luxury’ townhomes. I can’t tell you how many friends I’ve lost. The planes to Denver and Mexico City are full of refugees. And, let’s face it, the ones fleeing the country are the smart ones…”

Dave was glad to be outside the conversation. As the Matts nodded at AJ and Braden gazed at the hunks, Dave turned his attention to Braden, trying not to stare. Dave had always found him attractive; he looked vaguely Scandinavian. He had a lanky body with wisps of hair on his chest. Dave noticed his arms, which were built, he assumed, not in the gym but by the genetic pass-down of generations of sea-people toiling with ropes on the waterfront in Ballard…. Do others not see this? There was also his vibe. A quiet confidence; an unspoken thought; a story not posted on social. What’s the book he’s reading?

And he was relatively tall. Tall enough.

AJ was still going. “Did you hear that Billy and Joe sold their place recently? Over a million. They bought it nine years ago for two-seventy-five. And now they’re retiring to Puerto Vallarta… they’re not even fifty.”

“Wow,” mumbled the Matts, who’d just paid a million with 10% down.

“Bottom line, the system is broken. Workers are fucked, as usual. Not all of us have fancy finance jobs like Dave here!”

Dave was jolted back into the conversation. “Ah, well, I’m in operations…”

AJ didn’t hear, but his monologue was over. “But at least we have the sun! It’s about time too. Lovely, lovely day for some rosé. Hope you boys are well stocked! We must continue, but maybe we’ll see you in the water?”

“For sure,” they mumbled with relief.

“Adiós!” said AJ, waving goodbye, pirouetting toward the hunks, and shrieking, “Hi Dolls!”

Dave watched Braden follow his friend, disappearing into the sea of abs.

CASCADE 1: Going Downhill | A Failed Homosexual |.Crypto Karen | New Neighbors

CASCADE 2: Madison Park Beach | Home Economics | Morning in Bellevue

J.J. lives in Seattle and can frequently be found on foot trekking up and down hills, stopping only to record one-liners and half-baked ideas.

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