Further Tales of the City (21 page)

R
EMEMBERING AN ANCIENT TEACHING OF THE CAMP
Fire Girls, Prue made a tourniquet from another oily rag and applied it hastily to her ankle.

Three minutes later, she loosened the device enough to see that the bleeding had stopped, then raised herself cautiously to her feet. A pearl-sized drop of blood, dark as a ruby, bubbled to the surface as soon as she placed weight on the ankle. She blotted it warily, whimpering as she did so, until she felt secure enough to walk.

Then she set off in the direction of the ship.

As she left the litter-strewn lot, an angry voice called out to her. “Hey, lady!”

She flinched at the sound, turning to see a heavy-set, redheaded man in his late forties. He was wearing overalls and carrying a hoe upright, like a spear.

“Was that son of a bitch with you?”

Prue struggled to find her voice. “I … if you mean … uh …”

“Look, lady … I’ll kill the bastard if I have to! I’ll find out who he is and I’ll …” He stopped, seeing the blood on Prue’s
ankle. “What’s that?” he asked, using a tone that was only slightly less hysterical.

“I fell,” she said feebly. “I cut myself on that bedspring. Please don’t yell at me.” She began to sniffle. “I can’t take it anymore. I
can’t.”

The man dropped his hoe and walked toward her. “Did he do this to you?”

“A man in a blue blazer?”

“Yep. You know him?”

Prue nodded defeatedly. “I was … chasing him. Did you see which way he went?”

“Through there,” said the man, pointing to a dilapidated wooden fence with two missing planks. “Through my goddamn garden, the son of a bitch!”

For about five seconds, Prue considered pursuing him, but her spirit was broken now, and she knew that Luke and the orphans would be long gone. She thanked the man and resumed walking, adding lamely: “I’m sorry if he damaged your garden.”

The man exploded. “Garden, hell!” He seized her wrist and pulled her toward the hole in the fence. “You’re gonna see this, lady!”

See
what,
for God’s sake? What on earth had Luke done?

Passing through the opening, they came into a small backyard—virtually indistinguishable from the junk-scattered lot it adjoined. A row of tractor tires, painted white and planted with petunias, was the sole concession to aesthetics. Along the back fence stood a shed of some sort, compartmentalized for … what? … cages?

The man led her to the shed.

“All right now, you tell me what the hell that means!”

What she saw made her scream, then gag, then vomit in the weeds behind the shed.

The man stood by awkwardly, finally offering her his handkerchief.

“Your friend is crazy, lady. What else can I say?”

Half-an-hour later, Frannie Halcyon was nervously pacing the Promenade Deck of the
Sagafjord.
Since two other cruise liners were already docked in Sitka, the ship was moored in the harbor, with launches making shuttle runs to the pier. The matriarch’s eyes were glued on those launches.

“If something’s happened, I’ll never forgive …”

“Nothing’s happened,” said Claire. “Relax, honey. You’re worse than a new mother.”

“But we sail in an
hour.”

“They know that,” said Claire.

“And I know that Giroux woman. She’s nothing if not flighty. She’s probably dragged that man off to a shop somewhere, with total disregard for …”

“Look!” cried Claire, pointing to the dock, “there’s another launch heading this way!”

Frannie’s tension eased instantly. “Thank God!”

Claire scolded her with a grin. “You’re the
worst
worrywart!”

“What deck’s the gangplank on?”

“A-Deck, I think.”

“I’m going to meet them,” said Frannie.

“Want company?”

Frannie smiled. “I know you think I’m silly. I get these feelings sometimes. There’s no rational explanation for them.”

Her fears disintegrated as soon as she saw the gossip columnist’s blonde tresses emerge from the launch.

“You see?” said Claire.

But then they saw that Prue was alone.

M
RS. MADRIGAL WAS TRIMMING THE IVY IN THE
courtyard when Mary Ann left for work.

“Off to the station, dear?”

Mary Ann nodded. “A big day. A
big
day.”

The landlady set down her shears and stood up. “Your little surprise, you mean?”

“You know about it?”

Mrs. Madrigal smiled. “Michael told me. He didn’t say what, actually … just when. I can’t imagine what it is.”

“It’s a wonderful surprise, actually. Not to mention a great story, if I do say so myself.”

“A marriage proposal
and
a great story. How many milestones can you squeeze into one week?” The landlady grasped Mary Ann’s shoulders, planting a kiss firmly on her cheek. “Congratulations, in advance, dear. I always knew you could do it.”

Mary Ann beamed. “Thanks.”

“And I want to plan a little do for you. For you and Brian.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Mary Ann, “I was hoping you’d plan the wedding.”

The landlady’s face lit up. “I’d be
thrilled.
Here, you mean?”

Mary Ann nodded.

Mrs. Madrigal looked about her in the courtyard. “Let’s see. You can say your vows under the lych gate. A coat of paint will fix it up just fine. And we can bring in a cellist, maybe … or a harpist … a harpist would be heavenly.” She clapped her hands together almost girlishly. “This is so wonderful … my little family … God’s been so grand to us, Mary Ann.”

“I know,” she replied.

And she meant it, too, for the first time in years.

Her revenge, she had just begun to realize, would be sweeter than she had ever dared to dream. Larry Kenan saw to that by being an even bigger bastard than usual.

“Well, how’s our little fighting journalist today?”

Mary Ann didn’t look up from her desk. She was organizing her note cards on DeDe, pruning and reshuffling to keep within her five minute format. It wasn’t easy.

The news director remained in the doorway, thumbs hooked in his Gentlemen’s Jeans. She could feel his smirk burning into the top of her head. “Look,” he said, “Denny needs to see your props for today’s show.”

“Right,” muttered Mary Ann, continuing to shuffle.

“Now,
lady.”

Mary Ann gazed up at him, steely-eyed. “It’s just a goddamn sea sponge, Larry.”

He snorted noisily. “For
what?”

Mary Ann looked down again. “An alternative to tampons.”

There was silence for a moment, then Larry began chortling like an idiot.

Mary Ann picked up a pencil and made a meaningless note on her calendar. “Toxic shock your idea of a big yuck, Larry?”

“Not at all,” said the news director, turning to leave. “Just
glad to hear you’re doing a little
in depth
reporting. Break a leg, O.K.?”

The movie for today’s show was
Move Over, Darling
and the irony wasn’t lost on Mary Ann. Doris Day has been marooned on a desert island for seven years and comes home unexpectedly to find her husband, James Garner, on the verge of marrying Polly Bergen. Meanwhile, DeDe Day shows up at intermission. It was too delicious for words.

Mary Ann’s phone rang at 2:15.

“Mary Ann Singleton.”

“It’s DeDe, Mary Ann. Listen to me carefully: Have you told them anything yet?”

“Where are you? I need you here before the …”

“Have you told them anything?”

Mary Ann was thrown by the urgency in DeDe’s voice. “Of course not,” she replied. “We won’t say anything until we’re on the air.”

“I can’t do that, Mary Ann. We can’t.”

“Now wait just a minute!”

“Mother just called! The children have been kidnapped!”

“What?
In Alaska?”

“He’s got them, Mary Ann. I’m almost positive.”

“Jesus … are you …? How is that possible?”

“There isn’t time to talk. I’m flying to Sitka in an hour. Will you come with me?”

“DeDe, I …”

“I’ll pay for everything.”

“It isn’t that. I’m supposed to be on the air in …”

“I need you, Mary Ann.
Please.”

“O.K. Of course. Where shall we meet?”

“At the airport—catch a cab. And don’t say a word to anyone, Mary Ann …
not a word!”

T
HERE WAS A RUMOR RAMPANT THAT THE HOTTEST BODIES
from the City Athletic Club had graduated to the Muscle System farther down Market Street, but Michael found it hard to believe.

Today, for instance, the club was wall-to-wall horse flesh—sleek, river-tanned torsos straining heroically against the high-tech tyranny of the Nautilus machines. All in all, a profoundly discouraging sight.

For Michael’s own body needed work. Badly.

After forty-five minutes of torturous leg lifts, decline presses, overhead presses, and super tricep exercises, he repaired to the Hollywood-size Jacuzzi where Ned was languishing like an aging gladiator.

Michael eased himself into the bubbling water. “It’s practically an unwritten law,” he said.

“What?” asked Ned.

“If I’m in shape, I’m not in love. If I’m in love, I’m not in shape.”

Ned laughed and squeezed the back of his neck. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Thanks a lot,” said Michael.

“Well, I assume you meant …”

“I know, I know. And there is no lucky guy, either. I’m just ready for … something nice.”

Ned extended his legs and floated on his back. “What about your cop friend? I thought he was making the earth move.”

Michael shook his head. “It was only the bed.”

The nurseryman laughed.

“Besides,” added Michael, “I’ve had it with falling in love with love. I’m a lot more cautious than I used to be.”

“Right.” Still on his back, Ned turned his head and smirked at him.

“I
am,
” Michael insisted. “You have to be cautious. Some guys have given up on love altogether, settling for a list of ten people they can have terrific sex with. You can think you’re falling in love, when really you’re just auditioning for the list. Does that make any sense?”

“Did you make his Top Ten?” grinned Ned.

“I didn’t mean Bill specifically,” said Michael.

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I think I’m more of a Golden Oldie now. It doesn’t matter. I’m kind of a washout at buddy sex. Why am I telling
you
this, anyway? You’ve got your own list.”

Ned let his legs drop and sat up again. “It beats cruising the bars and fast-food sex. There’s a lot to be said for sex with friends, Michael.”

“Maybe. But a little romance would be nice. A little sentiment.”

“Fine. Go get it, Bubba.”

Michael smiled. “I’m trying, God knows.”

“Is that what you were doing at The Glory Holes last week?”

“In my own way. Hell, I don’t know. I run in cycles, I guess. Sometimes I think I’m the horniest guy alive … and I don’t need a damn thing in the world but some hot stranger tweaking my tits and call me “buddy” in the dark. I mean … some anonymous sex is so wonderful that it almost seems to prove the existence of God.”

Ned splashed water on him. “That’s because you’re on your
knees,
kiddo.”

Michael laughed. “But that’s just part of the time. As soon as the moon changes or something, I want to be married again. I want to sit in a bathrobe and watch
Masterpiece Theatre
with my boyfriend. I want to
plan
things—trips to the mountains, dinners in Chinatown, season tickets to whatever. I want order and dependability and somebody to bring me NyQuil when I feel like shit.

“And yet … I know that’ll pass too. At least, for a while. I
know
there’ll be times when I want to prowl again. I’m too much in love with adventure. I panic at the thought of being with only one person for the rest of my life. So what the hell is the answer?”

Ned shrugged. “You find somebody who understands all that. And loves you for it.”

Michael looked at his friend for a moment, then ducked beneath the surface of the water. When he reemerged, he said: “Why am I getting heavy in the Jacuzzi? It must be that damn wedding.”

“Mary Ann and Brian’s?”

Michael shook his head. “Chuck and Di’s.”

“Is that today?”

“Tomorrow morning. At three o’clock our time.”

“I think I’ll miss that,” said Ned.

“Not me. I think she’s great. He’s kind of a nerd, I guess, but she’s a doll. And I’m such a sucker for romance.”

Ned regarded Michael affectionately, then gave his knee a playful shake. “God save the Queen,” he said.

“C’mon,” grinned Michael, climbing out of the water, “it’s almost time for Mary Ann’s show.”

T
HE AIR ALASKA FLIGHT TO SEATTLE TOOK ALMOST TWO
hours—the one to Sitka, about three, with a brief stopover in Ketchikan, just inside the Alaskan border. By the time they reached Sitka, Mary Ann was drained.

DeDe, however, showed amazing resilience.

“How do you do it?” asked Mary Ann, as the duo boarded a cab at Sitka Airport.

DeDe smiled wearily. “Do what?”

“Well … I’d have fallen apart by now. Just thinking about it.”

DeDe searched for a mint in her tote bag. “I did my falling apart earlier. I screamed for five solid minutes after Mother called. No more … that’s it.” She popped a mint into her mouth. “It would only get in the way of what I have to do.”

The faintly John Wayne-ish undertone of this remark unsettled Mary Ann. “Are you sure we shouldn’t notify someone. I mean … if not the police, then someone who’ll at least know …”

“No. No one. If it’s him, then media coverage is the last
thing we need. The man doesn’t take to being cornered. We would only freak him out.”

“But surely some sort of protection would be …”

“When we find him,” said DeDe. “When we know we can nail him without harming the children … and not before.”

When,
observed Mary Ann, not
if.
They had no proof whatsoever that the twins were still in Sitka, but DeDe kept the faith. It was hard to imagine a more courageous display of positive thinking.

The cab driver asked: “Where to in town?”

“The Potlatch House.” DeDe turned to Mary Ann. “The ship left this afternoon, I gather. Mother and Prue Giroux took rooms at this place.” She smiled sardonically. “If there was ever an odd couple …”

“What did they tell the ship people?”

“Nothing,” said DeDe, “at my instruction. They just disembarked, saying they had decided to spend some time in Sitka. Pretty flimsy-sounding, I guess, but we had no choice.
Any
report of the kidnapping would be deadly at this point.”

Mary Ann felt her flesh pebbling. She had never heard “deadly” used quite so literally. “I’m surprised your mother didn’t call the police.”

“So am I,” said DeDe. “Fortunately, she called me first. I’m sure that Prue encouraged it. He was
her
boyfriend, after all. The last thing she wanted was to tangle with the police. It’s not really the sort of thing she can use in her column.”

“She met him on the ship, though. We can’t exactly hold her responsible for …”

“She
says
she met him on the ship.”

Mary Ann frowned. “I’m sorry. You’re losing me again.”

“I think she knows more than she’s telling Mother,” explained DeDe. “And I think Mother knows more than she’s telling us.”

“About what?”

DeDe sighed. “I don’t know … just … well, something about her beloved Mr. Starr finally convinced her he was off the deep end.”

“I would certainly think so,” said Mary Ann.

“Something besides the kidnapping.”

“Oh.”

“She started to tell me, and then just shut up. I guess she’s protecting me. We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” DeDe’s smile was ironic and heartbreakingly brave.

Mary Ann took her hand to ward off her own tears. “Don’t make it any worse than it is,” she said.

“Is that possible?” asked DeDe.

The cab crossed a streamlined white bridge, while the driver drew their attention to an extinct volcano that presided majestically over an archipelago of tiny islands. The town lay ahead of them, clean and compact as Disneyland. As a setting for indescribable menace, it was not very convincing.

Mary Ann checked her watch. It was 9:13. Twilight.

DeDe peered out at Sitka harbor. “It’s kind of pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah … I suppose.”

“I’m scared shitless,” said DeDe.

“So am I,” said Mary Ann.