Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

it time.”
    “You think?”
    “I know .” The landlady winked and put her arm across Mary Ann’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go join those tedious people.”

Rendezvous with Ruby
    R UBY MILLER’S HOUSE WAS ON ORTEGA STREET IN THE Sunset district, a green stucco bungalow with a manicured lawn and a bowl of plastic roses in the picture window. A Rambler parked in the driveway bore a bumper sticker that said: HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS.
    Edgar parked the Mercedes across the street. He was locking the doors when he saw Mrs. Miller waving from the window.
    He returned the wave. Christ! He felt like a shoe salesman coming home to the wife.
    Mrs. Miller turned on the porch light, took off her apron and fussed with a strand of gray hair. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, you are! I’m a mess…. I didn’t plan …”
    “I’m sorry. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”
    “Don’t be silly. I’m tickled to death.” She gave his hand a pat and led him into the house. “Ernie … look who’s here!”
    Her husband was seated in front of the television set in a Danish Modern chair. His arms were the shape and color of provolone cheese.
    “Hiya, Mr. Halcyon.” He didn’t get up. He was engrossed in the box before him.
    “How’s everything, Ernie?”
    “Bob Barker just reunited a Marine with his loved one.”
    “I’m sorry …?”
    “Truth or Consequences. They brought this Marine back from Okinawa and reunited him with his fiancée. She was dressed up like a frog. They made him kiss her … blindfolded.”
    Mrs. Miller took Edgar’s arm. “Isn’t that sweet? You don’t watch much TV, I guess.”
    “No. I’m afraid not.”
    “Well, enough chitchat. Let’s get to work. Something to eat first? Hi-C, maybe? Fritos?”
    “I’m fine, thank you.” At the last minute, out of nervousness, he had gorged himself on chicken livers at the club. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
    “Then let’s you and me go out to the garage. Ernie, don’t you play the TV too loud, hear?” Her husband grunted his reply.
    Mrs. Miller led Edgar through the kitchen. “That Ernie and his TV! I guess it relaxes him … and it’s much more Christian than the movies these days, what with … you know … all that nasty stuff.”
    “Mmm,” he said vaguely, trying to sound polite but disinterested. Mrs. Miller could slip into a monologue with all the precision of a New York cabby or an Italian barber. Edgar didn’t want to spend this session hearing about Smut in the Cinema.
    In the semidarkness of the garage, she went about her business. She cleared muddy garden tools off the ping-pong table and removed a couple of candle stubs from an old MJB can. Humming softly to herself, she donned the familiar purple velveteen robe.
    “Have you noticed any changes?”
    “In the garage?”
    Mrs. Miller chuckled. “In you. This is your fifth visit. You should be feeling … changes.”
    “I’m not sure. I may …”
    “Don’t force it. It will come.”
    “I wish I shared your confidence.”
    “Faith, Mr. Halcyon.”
    “Yes.”
    “Faith is different than confidence.”
    She was beginning to irritate him. “Mrs. Miller … my wife is expecting me home shortly. Could we …?”
    “Of course.” She was all business now. She brushed some imaginary lint off the front of her robe and kneaded her fingers for a moment. “Assume the posture, please.”
    Edgar loosened his tie and climbed onto the ping-pong table. He lay down on his back. Mrs. Miller lit a candle and placed it on the table near Edgar’s head.
    “Mr. Halcyon?”
    “Yes?”
    “Forgive me, but … well, I was wondering if … You mentioned Mrs. Halcyon. I was wondering if you told her.”
    “No.”
    “I know you don’t like to talk about it … but sometimes it helps if a loved one joins in and …”
    “My family is Catholic, Mrs. Miller.”
    She was visibly jarred. “Oh … I’m sorry.”
    “That’s all right.” He waved it away.
    “I didn’t mean I was sorry you’re Catholic. I meant …”
    “I know, Mrs. Miller.”
    “Jesus loves Catholics too.”
    “Yes.”
    She pressed her fingertips against Edgar’s temples and made small circular strokes. “Jesus will help heal you, Mr. Halcyon, but you must believe in Him. You must become a little child again and seek refuge in His bosom.”
    A motorcycle roared down Ortega Street, spluttering blasphemously, as Ruby Miller began the incantation that Edgar Halcyon now knew by heart: “Heal him, Jesus!