Sure of You (29 page)

Michael opened the mailbox. “Hasn’t the mail come yet?”

“I took it inside.”

“Anything good?”

“A postcard from Mona.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“She wants us to visit this summer.”

“Really? At Easley House?”

“Yep.”

Michael caught his breath at the thought of it.

“Should we do it?”

“Sure! You won’t believe this place, Thack!”

“What about you know who?”

He felt a sudden pang of guilt, vaguely parental. “Oh, yeah.”

“Dogs have to be quarantined for six months before they’ll let them in.”

“Forget it,” said Michael.

“Elizabeth Taylor used to keep hers on a barge in the middle of the Thames. That way it was only subject to maritime law.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Now there’s travel tip I’ll be sure to remember.”

“What about Polly?”

“What about her?”

“Hasn’t she offered to house-sit?”

“You’re right,” said Michael. “And Harry loves her.”

“You don’t think she’d mind?”

“Are you kidding? She can drag babes home from Francine’s.”

“Good point,” said Thack, grinning.

The rain drove them indoors. They made tea and watched the downpour from the kitchen table. Michael thought of his rainy spring at Easley House, over five years before. It was there, at the folly on the hill above the house, that he had finally told Mona about Jon’s death. Now, more than anything, he wanted her to meet the man who had made him happy.

He picked up her postcard and studied it again. It was a garden view of the great house. A ballpoint-penned arrow on one of the gables was labeled: “Your Room, Gentlemen.”

“We should really do this.”

“Then we will,” said Thack.

“I know you’ll love her. She doesn’t take shit from anybody.”

Thack smiled and poured more tea for him.

That Much in Love

N
OW ROLL IT UP REALLY TIGHT
…
LIKE SO
…
THEN
take one of those rubber bands and put it on the end there…that’s right, lovely…”

It was a sunny May Sunday in Mrs. Madrigal’s courtyard. Stretched out on the bricks in his Speedos, Brian listened while the landlady taught Shawna how to tie-dye. To his amazement, his daughter had actually requested this; tie-dyed stuff was cool again, she said. It made him tired just thinking about it.

“O.K., now put some more rubber bands on.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Point, O.K.?”

“No, dear. I mean put them anywhere you like. That’s what makes them beautiful. The designs are all different.”

“But I want one like you just did.”

“Well, what good would that be? Then it wouldn’t be yours, would it?”

Silence.

“Go on, now. You’ll see.”

Sitting up, Brian shielded his eyes from the sun as he watched the child coax the rubber bands onto the rolled T-shirt. “How’s it going?” he asked the landlady.

“Beautifully.”

Shawna rolled her eyes like the great Drew Barrymore. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Well, go to it, then.”

His daughter donned rubber gloves that were much too big for her, then dunked the trussed T-shirt into Mrs. Madrigal’s big porcelain tub.

“These are for Michael and Thack,” Shawna volunteered.

“That’s a good idea.”

“They can wear them to the May Festival.”

“Hey…there you go.”

“Are they both mediums?”

“Think so, yeah.”

Shawna turned to Anna. “Told you.”

“Yes, you did,” said the landlady, turning back to Brian. “How is Michael, by the way?”

“Fine.”

“He had strep throat the last time I talked to him.”

“It’s gone now.”

“I’m making the green one for Thack and the blue one for Michael.” Shawna raised her voice to get back their attention.

“Yeah,” said Brian. “I think green looks better on Thack.”

“Can we take them by there tonight?”

“If you want to, sure.”

“Michael says he’ll show me the parrot tree.”

“Don’t count on it,” Brian warned her. “You can’t be sure of them.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, it’s more special when it’s a surprise. When they just swoop down out of nowhere.”

The child turned back to Mrs. Madrigal. “If we add more salt it makes it brighter?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Let’s add some more, then.”

“All right, dear. Now watch very closely…”

Shawna gazed at her mentor with a look of such adoration that Brian felt a brief stab of jealousy.

Later, while his daughter was inside napping, Mrs. Madrigal sat on the bench and talked to him as he sunned. “How is her new place?” she asked.

“Didn’t you see
People
this week?”

“What people?”

“The magazine.”

“Oh. No.”

“She’s in it. There’s a picture of the apartment.”

“Ah.”

“It looks good. Old-fashioned, with high windows.”

“That does sound nice.”

“Not much furniture, of course…”

“No.”

“They call her the new Mary Hart.”

“The who?”

“Just this woman on
Entertainment Tonight
.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll bring you the article.”

“Don’t go to any trouble, dear.”

He smiled a little.

“You’ve lost weight,” she remarked. “Your tummy looks so flat.”

“I’ve been working out again.”

“Where?”

“At home. I made her old closet into a weight room.”

She chuckled. “There’s a clever boy.”

“I thought so,” he said.

His goal was to be back in shape by the end of summer.

When Brian arrived at the nursery the next morning, Michael was in the office, watching television in the tie-dyed T-shirt.

“Hey,” said Brian. “Looks good.”

“Doesn’t it?” Michael swiveled his chest for an instant, then turned his gaze back to the set. “Guess who she’s got on.”

Brian looked up and saw a very tanned Russell Rand, arranged with studied elegance on the near end of Mary Ann’s couch. He had just said something funny, apparently, because Mary Ann was laughing merrily.

“But it was such a natural idea,” she said, composing herself. “Designer wedding rings. You wonder why no one thought of it before.”

The designer’s expression was appropriately modest.

“And you and Chloe, of course, are your own best ad.”

Rand ducked his head. “Well…”

“I mean it. It’s just so damned nice to see two people that much in love.” There was scattered applause from the studio audience, so she egged them on a little. “Isn’t it? Isn’t it nice for a change?”

“Gag me,” said Michael.

Brian smiled. “You think she’s got Chloe behind the curtains?”

“Probably. So Russell can kiss her on camera.”

“And let me tell you…” Mary Ann was on a roll now, developing her theme. “Those of us who haven’t had such good luck in matters of the heart…”

“Fuck me,” Brian said.

“…can’t help but feel a little envious.”

“Fuck me fuck me fuck me.”

Michael gave him a rueful look.

“She can’t do one goddamn show without talking about it. Not one. She’s a professional divorcée.”

“Yeah…seems like it.”

Brian swatted off the set. It felt curiously satisfying. “You’d think she’d at least wait until the divorce was final.”

His partner gave him a half-lidded smile. “I think she wanted to start with a new persona.”

Brian grunted. “Have you talked to her lately?”

“Not lately, really. Last week.”

“That’s lately.” He glanced guiltily toward the blank screen. “I’m sorry, man. If you wanna…”

“No. Who cares? I just thought she might do a Lucy tribute.”

“Well, here…” He reached toward the set. “Let’s turn it back on.”

“No. Really. I’m Lucyed out.”

How could he not be? thought Brian. Only yesterday his partner had passed an impromptu memorial at Eighteenth and Castro and been so moved by the sight that he’d bought a small box of chocolates (“for my favorite episode”) and laid it ceremonially among the flowers.

“Are you sure?” asked Brian.

“Yeah. All they ever show is the grape-stomping scene.”

“Who?”

“Mary Ann.”

“Not much. Just stuff about the show.”

“Nothing about me?”

Michael looked annoyed.

“Sorry…I promised I wouldn’t do that.”

“That’s right. You did.”

“O.K.” Brian nodded. “Point taken.”

“Life goes on, sport.”

“I Know.”

“You wanna do a movie tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Thack wants to see
Scandal
.”

“What’s that?”

“You know. The Christine Keeler thing.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Can you find a sitter?”

“Yeah. I think Mrs. M. is probably…”

“Well, well, well.” Michael was suddenly distracted by something out the window. “Look at that, would you?”

He looked.

“Jessica Rabbit is back.”

Sure enough, she was. This time in a pink cotton blouse and khaki short shorts. Brian moved to the window and watched as she strode down a sun-dappled aisle, her rustcolored hair swinging like draped satin. He could practically smell her.

Then, out of nowhere, Polly bounded onto the scene, taking a shortcut through the Burmese honeysuckle to head off her quarry at the pass. He couldn’t hear what was said, but both women smiled a lot, and Polly reached out at one point to touch Jessica’s arm.

“I knew it,” he said with quiet resignation.

Michael regarded him with sympathetic spaniel eyes.

“I had her spotted the minute she laid eyes on Polly.”

“Oh, well.”

Brian turned his gaze from the women and tried to be a good sport about it. “What the hell. More power to ’em.”

“I dunno,” said his partner, still watching.

“C’mon. That’s a pickup if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Then what’s she doing now?”

Jessica, in fact, was walking away from Polly, a purposeful glint in her slanting cat’s eyes. When she reached the end of the aisle, her creamy legs pivoted and scissored smartly up the path to the office.

“I’m outa here,” said Michael.

“Where are you going?”

“Just in back. I’ve got some reorganizing to do.”

“Michael…”

But his partner had already ducked into the storeroom and closed the door. By the time Brian had turned around again, Jessica Rabbit was at the door of the office. “Hi,” she breathed, gliding in.

“Hi,”

She came to the counter and gave him a languid smile. “Remember me?”

“Sure.”

“The bushes are doing great,” she said.

“Well…good. Glad to hear it.”

She studied him for the longest time, looking wryly amused.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“Oh, no.” She wet her lips. “Not a thing in the world.”

He did his damnedest not to squirm.

“Your friend out there”—she jerked her head toward the window, but didn’t take her eyes off him—“says you’re a free man again.”

He gazed uneasily out the window. Polly stood by the door of the greenhouse, watching them. She grinned at him for a moment, then thrust out her thumb triumphantly. He was certain he was blushing when he turned back to Jessica.

“Yeah,” he told her. “Looks like it.”

About the Author

ARMISTEAD MAUPIN is the author of Tales of the City, More Tales of the City, Further Tales of the City, Babycakes, Significant Others, Sure of You, and Maybe the Moon. In 1994 Tales of the City became a controversial but highly acclaimed miniseries on public television. More Tales of the City became a Showtime original miniseries in 1998. Maupin lives in San Francisco.

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P
RAISE FOR
A
RMISTEAD
M
AUPIN

“I love Maupin’s novels for very much the same qualities that make me love the novels of Dickens.”

Chirstopher Isherwood

“A consummate entertainer who has made a generation laugh….[Maypin] works his dialogue with a jeweller’s precision and a playwright’s deployment of dramatic irony.”

Edmund White,
Times Literary Supplement

“Armistead Maupin has this uncanny way of providing a different sort of mirror on life, which he then rotates to a particular angle, so that we can see the backs of our own heads—that wayward cowlick, the bald spot we’ve been trying to cover up, what’s really on our minds.”

Amy Tan

“Maupin has a genius for observation. His characters have the timing of vaudeville comics, flawed by human frailty and fueled by blind hope.”

Denver Post

“Armistead Maupin is a first rate, world-class novelist, creating characters so vivid, complicated, tender, and true as to seem utterly timeless…I’m willing to bet that fifty years from now Maupin’s work will be read for its detailed describtions of late twentieth century America, its rollicking humor and kind heart, its Chekovian compassion, its Wildean wit, its intricate…sometimes unbelievable but always utterly irresistible plotlines.”

Stephen McCauley

“Like those of Dickens and Wilkie Collins, Armistead Maupin’s novels have all appeared originally as serials. It is the strength of this approach, with its fantastic adventures and ashonishingly contrived coincidences, that makes these novels charming and compelling. Everything is explained and everything tieed up and nothing is lost by reading them individually. There is no need even to read them chronologically.”

Literary Review

BY ARMISTEAD MAUPIN