Further Tales of the City (11 page)

A
ROBIN WAS TRILLING IN A TREETOP AT HALCYON
Hill—an odd accompaniment, indeed, for a story as grisly as this one.

“Wait a minute,” said Mary Ann. “How could you be sure that the cyanide was intended for … for what he used it for?”

“I knew,” DeDe replied grimly. “If you were there, you knew. Captain Duke was even more certain than I was. He also knew about Dad’s fixation with the twins, and he knew that …”

“Your
father
was …?”

“My father?”

“You said Dad.”

DeDe grimaced. “I meant
him.
Jones. We called him Dad, some of us.” She shuddered, sitting there in the sunshine, then smiled wanly at Mary Ann. “If that doesn’t give you the creeps, nothing will.”

The flesh on Mary Ann’s arm had already pebbled. She held it up so DeDe could see.

DeDe continued: “The point is … Jones was obsessed with my children. He called them his little third world wonders.
He saw them as the hope of the future, the living embodiment of the revolution. Sometimes he would single them out at the day-care center and sing little songs to them. I knew he wouldn’t leave without taking them.” She looked directly into Mary Ann’s eyes. “I knew he wouldn’t kill himself without killing them.”

Mary Ann nodded, mesmerized.

“So I discussed it with D’orothea and we planned the escape … with Captain Duke’s help. We left on a regular morning run to Kumaka. Sometimes D’orothea would go along with me, so nobody was particularly suspicious. The twins, of course, had to be sneaked on board when nobody was looking. When we got to Kumaka we took on supplies, then we just kept on going down the river to a village called Morawhanna, where Captain Duke bribed the captain of the
Pomeroon,
a freighter that made regular trips between Morawhanna and Georgetown … usually with fish on board.”

“Uh … dead fish, you mean?”

DeDe shook her head. “Tropical fish. It’s a big export item in Guyana. They had these big tin drums on board for the fish, and some of them were empty, so we hid out in two of them until we reached Georgetown. Twenty-four hours later.”

“Jesus,” said Mary Ann.

“I fed a sedative to the children. That helped some. But most of the trip was at sea. Ghastly. The worst experience of my life. It was a little easier when we reached Georgetown. Captain Duke arranged for us to be met by another PPP official …”

“You mentioned that before. What’s PPP?”

“People’s Progressive Party. Jungle Communists. They had us on a flight to Havana within twenty-four hours. D’orothea and I were already working in a cannery when the news of the slaughter broke.”

“How long did you live in Havana, then?”

“Two-and-a-half years. Up until last month.”

“They wouldn’t let you come home?”

“If you mean, here, I didn’t
want
to go home. D’orothea and I were happy. The children were happy. There were principles involved, things that mattered to us.” DeDe smiled
forlornly. “Mattered. Past tense. One of our beloved comrades found out.”

“Found out?”

“That D’orothea and I were lovers.”

Mary Ann flushed, in spite of herself. “So they … uh … deported you?”

DeDe nodded. “They gave us a choice, sort of. D’orothea decided to stay. She felt that being a socialist was more important than being a lesbian.” She smiled almost demurely. “I didn’t agree with that, so I ended up at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, where I did what I always do when the shit gets this deep.”

“What?”

“I called Mother,” grinned DeDe.

Later, they tiptoed into an upstairs bedroom where DeDe’s four-year-olds lay sleeping. Seeing them there, sprawled blissfully against the bedclothes, Mary Ann was reminded of the little silk dolls sold on the street in Chinatown.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

DeDe beamed. “Edgar and Anna.”

“Named for your father and … who?”

“I don’t know,” said DeDe. “Daddy just liked the name. He asked me to name her that on the night he died.”

“What they’ve seen,” said Mary Ann, looking down at the children. “They don’t remember anything, do they?”

“Not from Guyana, if that’s what you mean.”

“Thank God.”

After a moment of silence, Mary Ann said: “I can’t help telling you … this is just the most … amazing story, DeDe. I’m so flattered you chose me for this.”

DeDe smiled. “I hope it’ll do you some good.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you want to wait before releasing the story? It ought to be told now, it seems to me. You’ll only have to hide out, and sooner or later someone will …”

“There are things I have to do,” DeDe said sternly.

“Like … what?”

“I can’t tell you yet,” DeDe replied.

When she leaned down to kiss her children, there was something indefinable in her eyes.

__________ _________SAT UP IN BED AND LIT A CIGARET. “MAYBE WE’D
better take a break, huh?”

“Yeah?” said Michael, “I’m sorry.”
God, was he sorry.

“It’s O.K., pal.”

“Maybe with you.”

“Nah. It’s fine. Happens all the time.”

“It does?” Michael sat up, so that now they were both propped against the regal headboard.

The movie star gave his thigh a friendly shake. “Sure. All the time.”

“That must be kind of a drag,” said Michael.

The same sleepy, half-lidded smile that seemed to work so well on_______ _______’s leading ladies flickered across the actor’s face. “I’m just another guy like you, you know.”

Michael smiled back at him. “Not yet, you aren’t.”

“No sweat,” said _____, taking another drag on his cigaret. “We’re not in any hurry. I’m not, anyway.”

“Won’t the movie be over soon?”

The movie star shrugged. “You didn’t miss anything. I can promise you that.”

“Not
down
stairs, maybe.”

“Hey, ease up, pal … if I don’t turn you on, there’s no harm done.”

“Are you kidding? You’ve turned me on since I was eleven.”

“Hey,” grinned _______, “thanks a helluva lot.”

Michael laughed apologetically. “I’m not doing very well, am I?”

_______looked at him with affection, then tousled his hair. “All right. Pretty damn all right.”

“It’s such a waste,” Michael lamented. “Your dick is so beautiful.”

The actor nodded his thanks.

“I can’t believe what a fuck-up I am. I mean, Jesus God … how many cracks do you get at_______ ________?”

“Two or three,” said the movie star, tweaking Michael’s nipple. “And possibly lasagna. Guido’s dishing it out to the hordes downstairs. Why don’t I bring us a plate?”

Fifteen minutes later, when ______ came back with the food, Michael had some good news for him: “I found the popper case. It was wedged between the mattress and the headboard.”

“Great,” said ______, easing into bed holding two forks and a plate of lasagna.

Michael examined the black leather pouch. “Jees. Your initials and everything. And
real
poppers inside. Lord, it’s so grand here at the Harmonia Gardens.”

______speared a chunk of lasagna and handed the fork to his guest. “That was a present from Ned. Christmas before last. He knows how to buy for me.”

Michael took a healthy bite out of the lasagna. “That was what did it, you know. Those goddamn initials on that little leather case. All I could think of was: ‘Hey, that’s right. That must make me______ ______.’”

“She’s a little tougher than you,” said the actor, “but I like your body better.”

Michael smiled with a mouthful of lasagna. “Something tells me you’ve said that before.”

________spoke to the tip of his fork. “Well, you’re not exactly the first guy to say he feels like_________ _________.”

“Good point.”

“It’ll pass. It just takes a while sometimes.”

“I think it already has.”

“Huh?”

“Do you mind if we ditch the lasagna and have another go at it?”

“You’re on,” grinned ______.

Somewhere in Arizona, Michael is hitchhiking on a stretch of desert highway. The trucker who picks him up is older than he is—gray and a little grizzled—but his body is massive and hard. Without a word, he lays a thick-veined hand on Michael’s thigh and takes him to a sleazy motel on the edge of the desert. It is there that it finally happens, there that Michael tastes diesel fuel on a sunburned neck and commits himself totally to the appetites of a stranger.

“Uh … Michael?”

“Mmm?”

“You O.K.?”

“Does Nancy have a red dress?”

“What?”

“Sorry. Just a little post-coital campy.”

“Oh.”

“I’m great. How are you?”

“Great. All things are possible, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” said Michael dreamily, wondering if somewhere in Arizona a lonely hitchhiker was sleeping with a truck driver, but fantasizing about_____ ______.

It seemed only fair.

T
HE SAMADHI CENTER ON VAN NESS WAS ACROSS THE
street from a Midas muffler shop and next door to Hippo Hamburgers. Brian pointed this out to Mary Ann, adding wickedly: “It kinda makes me feel mystical already.”

Rolling her eyes, Mary Ann pushed the button for the third floor. “This isn’t like
Altered States,
you know. It isn’t a psychedelic number. It’s whatever you want it to be. Brian, promise me you won’t be a wiseass with the attendant. They take this place seriously.”

“Right.” Brian assumed an appropriately sober expression. “Are you actually a member here now?”

“I signed up for ten floats,” said Mary Ann. “I can take them anytime.”

“How much was that?”

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

Brian whistled.

“That’s not so much,” said Mary Ann. “Not for what it does for me. Besides, it’s close to work and I …”

“Where are you getting this kind of money?”

“What kind of money?”

“We’ve been living like lords for the past
week,
Mary Ann. Ever since you got back from Hillsborough.”

“We may have splurged a bit now and then.”

“Yeah.” Brian counted on his fingers. “Dinner at L’Oran-gerie. Uh … scalper’s tickets to Liza Minnelli. That big motherfucker floral horseshoe you sent Michael when he left on the tour. Have I left anything out?”

Mary Ann wouldn’t look at him.

“It’s that old lady,” persisted Brian. “She’s giving you money, isn’t she?”

“Brian …”

“Just tell me that much, O.K.?”

“All right!” said Mary Ann. “She’s giving me money. Are you satisfied now?”

“I knew it! She’s buying hot consumer tips from you!”

The elevator door opened. “Very funny,” said Mary Ann, striding briskly across gray industrial carpeting. “Will you behave yourself now?”

The room assigned to Brian contained a Samadhi tank and a private shower. The tank stood chest high, roughly as long and wide as a twin bed. According to the attendant, it contained ten inches of water in which 800 pounds of Epsom salts had been dissolved.

“Is it dark in there?” asked Brian.

The attendant nodded. “Completely. We also have earplugs, if you like.”

“How do I know when my hour is up?”

“They play music,” said Mary Ann.

“In the tank?”

The attendant smiled euphorically. “Pachelbel.”

“My favorite,” said Brian.

Mary Ann shot daggers at him. “I’ll be in the tank across the hall.”

Brian winked at her. “Last one to Nirvana is a rotten egg.”

It took him several minutes to get used to it, to accept the fact that he could relax, even sleep, lying flat on his back in the pitch darkness, suspended like a fetus in this vat of warm, viscous water.

The earplugs, furthermore, obliterated everything but the sound of his own breathing.

It was not what he wanted.

He crawled out of the tank, showered off the salty slime, and stole across the hallway to Mary Ann’s room. Still naked, he knocked on the door of her tank.

The vinyl-covered hatch opened slowly, revealing the whites of her eyes.

“Brian! You scared me to death!”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Did they see you come over here?”

Brian shook his head. “Cohabitation is against the rules?”

“It’s supposed to be a
womb,
Brian.”

“And I should go back to mine, huh?”

Finally she smiled at him. “You’re just the worst.”

“Anyway,” said Brian, “we can tell them we’re twins.”

They were floating in space, fingertips touching.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” whispered Brian.

“What?”

“If you’ll tell me about your secret mission to Hillsborough, I’ll tell you about Jennifer Rabinowitz.”

“No deal.”

“I’ll tell you, anyway.”

“I figured you would,” said Mary Ann. “Who is she?”

“Just a Good Time Charlene I used to know.”

“And?”

“And … I didn’t fuck her while you were in Hillsborough.” Mary Ann laughed. “Terrific.”

“I
could
have. Easy as pie. She knew about you and didn’t mind …”

“Brian,
I
don’t mind.”

“I knew
that,
too. She didn’t mind and you didn’t mind, and she
knew
that I knew that you didn’t mind. I had the whole
goddamn world’s permission to fuck Jennifer Rabinowitz, and I didn’t do it.”

She squeezed his hand affectionately. “I don’t think there’s a medal for that, sport.”

“I don’t want a medal,” he murmured. “I want you to know what it means.”

“I know what it means,” she said softly.

B
EHIND THE WHEEL OF HIS RED
1957
CADILLAC EL
Dorado Biarritz, Father Paddy took on a disturbingly secular aspect. Prue could see why the car was a continuing embarrassment to the archdiocese, but she also felt that a bona fide television personality should be entitled to a few idiosyncrasies.

“Well,” said Father Paddy, grinning at the society columnist, “what’s the latest on Nature Boy?”

Prue chastised him with a little frown. “He’s a very good man, Father.”

“Did I imply otherwise?”

“He used to be a man of the cloth, in fact.”

The cleric’s eyebrow arched. “A Catholic?”

“No … some sort of Protestant, I think. He was an investment broker before that.”

“What?”

“I have no reason to doubt him,” she said defensively. “He doesn’t talk much, but he’s quite literate when he does. He’s amazing, Father. He’s done everything. He even taught English once at a private school in Rio. He’s done it all, and now he’s … doing this.”

“Doing
what?”

“Living. Being. Existing with God.”

“Has he hit you up for cash yet?”

Prue was shocked. “No! As a matter of fact, I
offered
to help him out and he turned me down.”

“I see.”

“He’s been living there for almost a year-and-a-half, he says. The park police know about him, but they let him stay because he respects the environment. He’s marvelous with animals, in fact. He has three little chipmunks that live under the bed.”

Father Paddy frowned. “This is all very charming, my child. But how does he
eat?”

“I don’t know. He scrounges, I guess.” Prue turned and looked out the window as the Biarritz climbed into Pacific Heights. “Your skepticism distresses me, Father. He’s no different from Saint Francis, really.”

The priest smiled indulgently. “I’m only concerned for your safety, darling.”

She took his hand appreciatively. “I know that. But it’s
such
a marvelous story, isn’t it?”

“How many times have you been there, anyway?”

“Uh … I’m not sure.”

“Give us a guess.”

She searched in her bag for her lipstick. “Maybe five or six times.”

Father Paddy’s eyes flickered mischievously. “My, my … such a
long
story, too.”