Further Tales of the City (13 page)

M
ARY ANN’S LE CAR BARRELED ALONG SKYLINE
Drive on a June evening at sunset.

“God,” said DeDe, glimpsing the sea. “It’s so infernally beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” said Mary Ann.

“It never goes away, you know.”

“What?”

“That. Or the memory of that. Even in the jungle … even in
that
jungle, there were things about California that never left me. Even when I wanted them to.”

Mary Ann hesitated, then asked: “Why would you want them to?”

“You didn’t grow up here,” said DeDe. “Almost anything can be oppressive given the right circumstances.” She smiled almost wistfully. “And salvation comes when you least expect it.”

Mary Ann turned and looked at her. “Surely you don’t consider Guyana your salvation?”

DeDe shook her head. “I was talking about D’orothea.”

“Oh.”

“I’d like to now, if you don’t mind. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” said Mary Ann, lying only slightly.

“It makes Mother climb the walls.”

“Different generation,” said Mary Ann.

“Did you know her at Daddy’s agency?”

“Who?” asked Mary Ann.

“D’orothea.”

“Oh … not very well, actually. She just came in and out sometimes. She was our biggest client’s top model. Frankly, she intimidated the hell out of me.”

DeDe smiled. “She had a way with her. Has, that is.”

“She used to be friends with a friend of mine. A copywriter named Mona Ramsey.”

“They were lovers,” said DeDe.

“Yeah.” Mary Ann grinned sheepishly. “That’s what I meant, actually. Sometimes the Cleveland in me takes over.”

DeDe chuckled, eyes glued to the sunset. “You’re doing better than I ever did. I never learned about a goddamn thing until it actually happened to me.”

Mary Ann pondered that for a moment. “Yeah,” she said drily, “but what hasn’t happened to you?”

DeDe shot her a wry glance. “Good point,” she said.

“It’s a journalist’s dream,” observed Mary Ann, adding hastily: “I hope that doesn’t sound callous.”

“No. I’m aware of its potential.”

“There’s a book in it for sure. Maybe even a movie-for-TV.”

DeDe laughed ironically at the prospect. “Won’t Mother love the hell out of that? ‘Starring Sally Struthers as the Society Lesbo.’ Jesus.”

Mary Ann giggled. “We should be able to do better than that.”

“Maybe … but I’m prepared for the worst.”

Mary Ann looked earnestly at her passenger. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“I know,” said DeDe. “I believe that. But not until the month is out, O.K.?”

Mary Ann nodded. “I wish I understood why.”

“If I tell you, will you promise me that Mother won’t hear about it?”

“Of course.”

“She thinks I need the time to rest up, to get my bearings before the publicity begins. That’s true enough, but not the whole truth. The whole truth has always been a bit too much for Mother.”

Mary Ann smiled. “I’ve noticed that.”

“I need to talk to some people. People who might know … what I need to know.”

“Who? Can you say?”

“Temple members,” answered DeDe. “And people who knew him.”

“Jones?”

DeDe nodded.

“You could start with the governor,” said Mary Ann. “And half the politicians in town. He was quite a popular fellow around here.”

DeDe smiled faintly. “I know. At any rate, I’m stalling right now, because I haven’t got all the facts. And I certainly don’t relish the thought of being branded as a nut case.”

“That would never happen.”

“In two weeks,” said DeDe, “you may have changed your mind.”

They parked to watch the sun go down in flames.

“I guess I changed the subject,” said Mary Ann.

“When?”

“You wanted to talk about D’orothea.”

“Yeah, well … there wasn’t much to say, really. Just that she cared for me. And made me laugh a lot. And the twins worshiped her. And she made love like an angel. And I wish she’d get her silly socialist ass out of Cuba and come home to me and the children. The usual stuff. Not much.”

“Until you lose it,” said Mary Ann.

“Until you lose it,” said DeDe. She watched the sea in silence for a moment, then turned to her companion. “I’m
glad you’re here. You’re a generous listener. You take things in stride.”

Mary Ann smiled. “Billie Jean King helped.”

“Huh?”

“I guess you haven’t heard about that.”

“She’s a dyke, too?”

“Well,” said Mary Ann. “She had an affair with a woman. Does that make her a dyke?”

“It does if she did it right,” DeDe replied.

T
HE WEATHER HAD BEEN RELENTLESSLY SUNNY FOR ALMOST
a week, so Michael and Ned had their hands full at God’s Green Earth. Business was so brisk at the nursery that it was three o’clock before they sat down amidst the other living things requiring partial shade and contemplated their Yoplait.

“What do you think I should do?” asked Michael.

“About what?”

“The parade.”

Ned shrugged. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“Sure. But what do I
wear?
There’s a big demand for the All-American look, and I pull that off pretty well. On the other hand, the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence have asked me to be a nun this year.”

Ned spooned yogurt into his mouth. “Go for the nun,” he said.

Michael thought for a moment. “Have you ever tried getting laid when you’re dressed as a nun?”

“Why not? There must be nuns who have.”

“Climb every mountain, huh?”

Ned laughed. “I suppose you could be an All-American nun.”

“What’s that? A denim habit?”

“Denim
under
your habit,” smiled Ned.

“Right. So I can swing into action at a moment’s notice. Like Superman. I like it, Ned—style
and
content. You got an answer for everything.”

The nurseryman gave him a once-over, then smiled. “Sister Mary Mouse, huh?”

They remained there in the dappled light, finishing their lunches in silence.

Then Michael said: “Do you ever get tired of all this?”

“The nursery, you mean?”

“No. Being gay.”

Ned smiled. “What do you think?”

“I don’t mean being homosexual,” said Michael. “I wouldn’t change that for anything. I love men.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I guess I’m talking about the culture,” Michael continued. “The Galleria parties. The T-shirts with the come-fuck-me slogans. The fourteen different shades of jockstraps and those goddamn mirrored sunglasses that toss your own face back at you when you walk into a bar. Phony soldiers and phony policemen and phony jocks. Hot this, hot that. I’m sick of it, Ned. There’s gotta be another way to be queer.”

Ned grinned, tossing his yogurt cup into the trash. “You could become a lesbian.”

“I might,” Michael replied. “They do a lot of things that I’d like to do. They
date,
for Christ’s sake. They write each other bad poetry. Look … we give them so much grief about trying to be butch, but what the hell are
we
doing, anyway? When I was a teenager, I used to walk down the street in Orlando and worry about whether or not I looked like … well, less than a man. Now I walk down Castro Street and worry about the same thing. What’s the difference?”

Ned shrugged. “They don’t beat you up for it here.”

“Good point.”

“And nobody’s
making
you go to the gym, Mouse. Nobody’s making you act butch. If you wanna be an effete poet and pine away in a garret or something, you’re free to do it.”

“Those are my choices, huh?”

“Those are everybody’s choices,” said Ned.

“Then why aren’t they exercising them?”

“They?” asked Ned.

“Well, I meant …”

“You meant ‘they.’ You meant everybody else but you. You’re the only sensitive one, right, the only full-fledged human being.”

Michael scowled. “That isn’t fair.”

“Look,” said Ned, sliding his arm across Michael’s shoulders, “don’t shut yourself off like that. There are two hundred thousand faggots in this town. If you generalize about them, you’re no better than the Moral Majority.”

Michael looked at him. “Yeah, but I know you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“It’s just so fucking packaged,” said Michael. “A kid comes here from Sioux Falls or wherever, and he buys his uniform at All-American Boy, and he teaches himself how to stand just so in a dark corner at Badlands, and his life is all posturing and attitude and fast-food sex. It’s too easy. The mystery is gone.”

“Is it gone for you?”

Michael smiled. “Never.”

“Then maybe it isn’t for that kid. Maybe it’s just what he needs to get Sioux Falls out of his system.”

A long silence, and then: “I’m sounding awfully old, aren’t I?”

Ned shook his head. “You’re just a little gayed out after the tour. I feel that way sometimes. Everybody does. Nobody ever said it would be easy, Michael.” He tightened his grip on his friend’s shoulders. “You want me to help you make your habit?”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You sew?”

“Sure,” said Ned, “when I’m not standing in a dark corner at Badlands.”

P
RUE RUMMAGED FURIOUSLY FOR THE RIGHT WORDS.
“He’s just … different, Father. He’s different from any man I’ve ever known.”

“Somehow,” replied the priest, “I have no trouble believing that.”

“He’s decent and he’s kind and intuitive … and he has such respect for nature, and he understands God better than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“And he’s a helluva lot of fun in the sack.”

“Father!”

“Well, let’s get the cards on the table, girl. This isn’t the dressing room at Saks, you know.”

Prue didn’t answer for a moment. She sat there rigidly in the darkness, hearing the scuffle of feet outside the confessional. “Father,” she said at last, “I think somebody’s waiting.”

A sigh came through the hole in the wall. “Somebody’s
always
waiting,” bemoaned the cleric. “It’s just that time of the month. Can’t this wait till lunch on Tuesday?”

“No. It can’t.”

“Very well.”

“You’re so sweet to …”

“Get on with it, darling.”

“All right …” Prue hesitated, then began again. “We
have
slept together.”

“Go on.”

“And … it was good.”

The priest cleared his throat. “Is he … clean?”

Stony silence.

“You do understand me, don’t you, my child? I’m talking hygiene, not morals. I mean, you don’t know where he’s been, do you?”

Prue lowered her voice to an angry whisper. “He’s perfectly clean!”

“Good. You can’t be too careful.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how … different he is, Father. I know that better than anyone. I also know that I need him in my life very badly. I can’t eat … I can’t write … I can’t go back and make things the way they were before I met him. I can’t, Father. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Of course, my child.” His voice was much gentler this time. “How are his teeth, by the way?”

“For God’s sake!”

“Prue, lower your voice. Mrs. Greeley is out there, remember?”

A long silence, and then: “How can I share this with you, if you won’t be serious with me.”

“I’m being
deadly
serious, darling. I asked about his teeth for a reason. It would help to know how … uh, presentable he is. Does he look O.K., aside from his clothes? I mean, would we have to fix him up?”

“I cannot believe this!”

“Just answer the question, my child.”

“He’s … magnificent,” Prue sputtered. “He’s a handsome middle-aged man with nice skin, nice teeth. His vocabulary is better than mine.”

“So all he needs is Wilkes?”

“For
what?”

“To pass. What else? The man needs a new suit, darling. We all had to pass at one point or another. Henry Higgins did it for Eliza; you can do it for Luke. Simple,
n’est-ce pas?”

Prue was horrified. “Luke will not be … fixed up, Father.”

“Have you asked him?”

“I wouldn’t dream of that. He’s such a proud man.”

“Ask him.”

“I couldn’t.”

The cleric sighed. “Very well.”

“Anyway, where would I do it?”

“Do what?”

“This … makeover. He won’t come to my place, I know that. What would I do? Make him hide in the closet when my secretary’s there? It’s perfectly ridiculous.”

Father Paddy seemed to ponder for a moment. “Let me work on it, darling. I have an idea.”

“What?”

“It’ll take a bit of arranging. I’ll get back to you. Run along now. Father knows best.”

So Prue collected her things and left the confessional.

Glowering, Mrs. Greeley watched her walk out of the cathedral.

I
T HAD BEEN FIVE DAYS SINCE THEIR LAST TAPING.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” said DeDe. “I was going a little stir crazy at home.”

They were eating dinner at a seafood place in Half Moon Bay. DeDe was wearing a Hermès scarf on her head and oversized sunglasses. Mary Ann was reminded of Jackie O’s old shopping get-up for Greece.

“I’d think you’d be used to it by now,” said Mary Ann.

“What?”

“Being confined. First Jonestown, then the gay Cuban refugee center.”

“You’ll never know true confinement,” mugged DeDe, “until you’ve lived with a hundred Latin drag queens.”

Mary Ann grinned. “Grim, huh?”

“Noisy.
Castanets day and night. Aye-yi-yi till it’s coming out your ass.”

Mary Ann laughed, then concentrated on her scallops. Was this the time to ask? Could she ease into the subject delicately? “Uh … DeDe?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you doing all right? I mean … is something the matter?”

DeDe set her fork down. “Why do you ask?”

“Well … your mother says you’ve been having nightmares.”

Silence.

“If I’m prying, tell me. I thought it might help you to talk about it.”

DeDe looked down at the Sony Micro Cassette-Corder that Mary Ann had bought with her first paycheck from Mrs. Halcyon. “It wouldn’t make bad copy, either.”

Mary Ann was devastated. She turned off the machine instantly. “DeDe, I would never …”

“Please. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” DeDe’s hand rose shakily to her brow. “Turn it back on. Please.”

Mary Ann did so.

“I’m edgy,” said DeDe, massaging her temples. “I’m sorry … I shouldn’t take it out on you … of all people. Yeah, I’m having nightmares.”

“About … him?”

DeDe nodded.

“How well did you know him, anyway?”

DeDe hesitated. “I wasn’t in the inner circle, if that’s what you mean.”

“Who was?”

“Well … mostly the ones who slept with him. He had a sort of coterie of young white women who were always getting screwed for the revolution. Sometimes he had sex as often as ten or twelve times a day. He used to brag about it. It was how he took control.”

“But he never …?”

“He knew about me and D’orothea, and he hated it. Not because we were lesbians, because he couldn’t have us.”

“It was that important to him?”

DeDe shrugged. “His track record’s available. He took two wives from Larry Layton, and he fathered a child by one of them. He fucked anything he could get his hands on, including some of the men.”

“I see.”

“He was … with me only once. At Jane Pittman Gardens.”

Mary Ann looked puzzled.

“Our dorm,” explained DeDe. “A lot of them were named after famous black women. I was sick that night, with a fever. D’orothea and most of the others were at a white night….”

“Uh …?”

“Suicide practice. Somebody else must’ve run the show, because Jones came to the dorm and climbed into bed with me.”

“Jesus.”

“He told me quite calmly that he thought it was about time the twins saw who their father was.”

Mary Ann shook her head in disbelief.

“And then … he raped me. The twins were in the crib next to us, screaming through the whole thing. When he finally left, he leaned over and kissed both of them rather sweetly and said: ‘Now you’re mine forever.’ ”

“Awful.”

“He means it, too.”

Mary Ann reached across the table and took her hand. “Meant,” she said quietly.

DeDe looked away from her. “Let’s go get a drink somewhere.”