Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

A hemostat roach clip. An exercise wheel. An autographed photo of La Belle.
    “The furniture’s at Robert’s,” he explained.
    “Fuck him,” said Mona. “You’ve got a new roomie now.”
    Michael hugged her. “You’ve saved my life again.”
    “Don’t mention it, Babycakes. Let’s just get the ground rules worked out, O.K.?”
    “I squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom.”
    “You know what I’m talking about, Mouse.”
    “Yeah. Well … we’ve each got a bedroom.”
    “And the living room is off limits for tricks.”
    “Of course.”
    “And if I bring any switch hitters home with me, it’s hands off, right?”
    “Do I look like that kind of cad?”
    “What about that Basque gardener last summer?”
    “Yeah.” Michael smiled. “He was all right, wasn’t he?”
    Mona stuck her tongue out at him.

Their First Date
    A NNA SUGGESTED THEY LUNCH AT THE WASHINGTON Square Bar & Grill. “It’s a hoot,” she laughed over the phone. “Everybody’s trying to be so godawful literary. For the price of a hamburger, you can look like you’ve just completed a slim volume of verse.”
    Edgar was wary. “I think I’d prefer something less boisterous.”
    “More private, you mean?”
    “Well … yes.”
    “For God’s sake! This isn’t a shack-up! If one of your cronies spots us, you can say I’m a client or something.”
    “My clients don’t look as good as you do.”
    “You naughty man!”
    They ended up sitting two tables away from Richard Brautigan. Or someone who was trying to look like Richard Brautigan.
    “That’s Mimi Fariña over by the bar.”
    Edgar drew a blank.
    “Joan Baez’s sister, you philistine. Where have you been all your life? The Peninsula?”
    He grinned sleepily. “You’re mighty uppity for a slum lord.”
    “Slum lady.”
    “Sorry. I’m not very good on celebrities.”
    Anna smiled at him unaccusingly. “Doesn’t your wife entertain them all the time?”
    “You read the papers?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “My wife collects things, Anna. She collects porcelain ducks, old wicker furniture, nineteenth-century French Provincial birdcages that look like the château at Blois…. She also collects people. Last year she collected Rudolf Nureyev, Luciano Pavarotti, several Auchinclosses and a bona-fide, first-edition Spanish prince named Uamberto de Something-or-Other.”
    “You can’t hardly get them no more.”
    “She also collects bottles. Rum bottles.”
    “Oh.”
    “Shall we stop talking about her?”
    “If you like. What would you like, by the way?”
    “I’d like a good-looking … how old are you?”
    “Fifty-six.”
    “I’d like a good-looking fifty-six-year-old woman to walk on the beach with me and tell me a few jokes.”
    “How soon?”
    “Right away.”
    “Crank up the Mercedes.”
    The beach at Point Bonita was almost empty. At the north end, a group of teenagers was flying a huge Mylar kite with a shimmering tail.
    “Goddammit,” said Edgar. “Remember how much fun that used to be?”
    Anna trudged along beside him through the coarse black sand. “Used to? I fly kites all the time. It’s delicious when you’re stoned.”
    “Marijuana?”
    Anna arched an eyebrow wickedly. She dug into her tapestry shoulder bag and produced a neatly rolled joint. “Please observe the cigarette paper. I thought it might appeal to your stern businessman’s heart.”
    The paper was a counterfeit one-dollar bill.
    “Anna … I don’t mean to be a spoilsport …”
    She dropped the joint back in the bag. “Of course you don’t. Well! Let’s have a nice little stroll, shall we?”
    He was hurt by her artificial cheeriness. He felt older than ever. He wanted to reach out to her, to establish some link between them that would last.
    “Anna?”
    “Yes?”
    “I think you’re incredible for a fifty-six-year-old woman.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “I do.”
    “This is exactly what a fifty-six-year-old woman is supposed to be like.”
    He laughed weakly. “I wish you approved of me.”
    “Edgar …” She took his arm for the first time. “I approve of you. I just want yow to climb out of that tough old hide of yours. I want you to see how wonderful you …”
    She let go of his arm and ran down the beach toward the teenagers. In less than a minute she was back, trailing the great silver kite behind her.
    She presented the string to Edgar. “It’s yours for ten minutes,” she panted. “Make it count.”
    “You’re insane.” He