Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

Heal thy servant Edgar. Heal his failing kidneys and make him whole again. Heal him, Jesus! Heal thy servant….”

The Boy Next Door
    M ARY ANN LEFT MRS. MADRIGAL’S JUST AFTER TEN o’clock. Back at her own apartment, she put her feet up, sipped a Tab and checked her mail.
    There was a short, gloomy note from her mother, a Contemporary Card from Connie implying desertion, and a box containing her Scenic San Francisco checks from Hibernia Bank.
    The personalized message on her checks was “Have a Nice Day.”
    Despite her pathetic income, the choice of a bank had somehow seemed crucial to the establishment of her identity in the city.
    In the beginning, she had wavered between the Chartered Bank of London and Wells Fargo. The former had a wonderfully classy name and a fireplace in the lobby, but only one branch in the entire city. The latter had a nice Western ring to it and lots of branches.
    But she had never considered Dale Robertson all that cute.
    In the end, she had gone with Hibernia.
    Their jingle promised they would remember your name.
    Someone rapped on her door.
    It was Brian Hawkins, who lived across the hall. He was a waiter at Perry’s and they had chatted briefly only once or twice before. His hours were extremely irregular.
    “Hi,” he said. “Mrs. Madrigal just called.”
    “Yeah?”
    “What is it? Furniture?”
    “I’m sorry, Brian. I don’t …”
    “She said you needed help with something.”
    “I can’t imagine what …” The light dawned. Mary Ann laughed, shaking her head, taking stock once more of Brian’s chestnut curls and green eyes. Mrs. Madrigal was pushy, but her taste wasn’t bad.
    Brian looked vaguely irked. “You wanna let me in on it.”
    “I think Mrs. Madrigal is matchmaking.”
    “You don’t need furniture moved?”
    “It’s kind of embarrassing. I … well, I just finished telling her there weren’t enough straight men in San Francisco.”
    He brightened. “Yeah. Ain’t it great?”
    “Oh, Brian … I’m sorry. I thought you …”
    “Relax, will ya? I’m straight as they come. I just don’t like competition .”
    He invited her over for a nightcap. His tiny kitchen was decorated with empty Chianti bottles and Sierra Club posters. The carcass of a neglected piggyback plant hung grimly from a pot on the window sill.
    “I love your stove,” said Mary Ann.
    “Funky, huh? Anywhere else it’s called squalor. Here we pass it off as Old World charm.”
    “Did it come with the apartment?”
    “Are you kidding? The stereo and the incline board are mine. The rest belongs to Dragon Lady.”
    “Mrs. Madrigal?”
    He nodded, looking her over. “She’s trying to fix us up, huh?” His smile was approaching a leer.
    Mary Ann chose not to deal with it. “She’s a little strange, but I think she means well.”
    “Sure.”
    “Has she always had this place?”
    He shook his head. “I think she used to run a bookstore in North Beach.”
    “Is she from here?”
    “Nobody’s from here.” He refilled her glass with Almadén Pinot Noir. “You’re from Cleveland, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah. How did you know?”
    “Mona told me.” The green eyes were burning into her.
    She looked down at her glass. “Well, no secrets at all.”
    “Don’t count on it.”
    “What?”
    “We’ve all got secrets in this town. You just have to dig a little deeper for them.”
    He’s being mysterious, she thought, because he thinks it’s sexy. She decided it was time to leave.
    “Well,” she said, rising. “Work tomorrow. Thanks for the wine … and the tour.”
    “Anytime.”
    She was sure he meant exactly that.

The Matriarch
    W HEN EDGAR GOT HOME AT ELEVEN-FIFTEEN, IT was clear that Frannie had been drinking.
    “Well, how was the club, darling? You make like a little hooty owl?”
    She was perched on the sofa on the sun porch. Her legs were curled up under her Thai silk muumuu. Her wig was askew. She smelled of rum and Trader Vic’s Mai Tai Mix.
    “Hello, Frannie.”
    “Awful long committee meeting.”
    “We were planning for the Grove Play.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it, though Frannie was too far gone to appreciate the effort.
    “Lotta work, huh?”
    “We had a few drinks afterward. You know how those things go.”
    Frannie nodded, stifling a hiccup. She certainly knew how those things went.
    He changed the subject. “How about you? You have a fun day?” His tone was that of a kindly father to a small child.
    What had happened to the