Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

codes!”
    “Mother!”
    “What, darling?”
    “I think Beauchamp has a mistress.” Silence.
    “I’m sure of it, in fact.”
    “Darling, are you …? You poor baby! How did you …? Are you …? Hand me that pitcher, will you, darling?”
    DeDe dug into her Obiko shoulder bag and produced the offending scarf. Frannie studied it at arm’s length, sipping her Mai Tai all the time.
    “You found it in his car?”
    DeDe nodded. “He walked to work on Monday. Binky and I drove the Porsche to Mr. Lee’s at noon, and I found it then. I tried to act like nothing was …” Her voice cracked. She began to cry. “Mother … I’m sure this time.”
    “You’re sure it’s hers?”
    “I’ve seen her wearing it.”
    “He could have given her a ride home, DeDe. Anyway … don’t you think your father would have noticed, if she was … carrying on with …”
    “Mother! I know!”
    Frannie began to sniffle. “The party was going to be so lovely.”
    DeDe went to lunch at Prue Giroux’s townhouse on Nob Hill.
    Under the circumstances, she might have canceled, but this wasn’t just any lunch.
    This was The Forum, a rarefied gathering of concerned matrons who met monthly to discuss topics of Major Social Significance.
    In previous months, the topics had been alcoholism, lesbianism and the plight of female grape-pickers. Today the ladies would discuss rape.
    Prue’s cook had whipped up a divine crab quiche.
    DeDe was nervous. This was her first lunch at The Forum, and she wasn’t sure of protocol. For guidance, she sat next to Binky Gruen.
    “Keep your eye on Prue,” whispered Binky. “When she rings that little silver bell, it means she’s heard enough and you’re supposed to stop talking.”
    “What am I supposed to say?”
    Binky patted her hand. “Prue will tell you.”
    DING-A-LING!
    The ladies dropped their forks and leaned forward, a dozen thoughtful faces hovering intently over the asparagus.
    “Good afternoon,” Prue beamed, surveying her guests. “I’m delighted you could be here today to share your personal insights into a subject of grave importance.” Her face fell suddenly, like a jarred soufflé. “Our very special guest today is Velma Runningwater, a Native American who successfully defended herself against an attempted gang rape by sixteen members of the Hell’s Angels in Petaluma.”
    Binky whistled under her breath. “This is better than the day she brought the bull dyke in!”
    “Pass the rolls,” whispered DeDe.
    “But before we hear Ms. Runningwater’s truly remarkable tale, I would like to try a very special experiment with those of us assembled here at The Forum….”
    “Here it comes,” said Binky, nudging DeDe under the tablecloth. “She’s always got a kicker.”
    “Today,” said Prue, pausing dramatically, “we are going to rap about rape….”
    Binky pinched DeDe. “Can you believe this?”
    DeDe gnawed nervously on her roll. Dark circles had begun to form under the arms of her Geoffrey Beane shirtwaist. She hated public speaking. Even at Sacred Heart, it had terrified her.
    “This is going to be difficult,” continued Prue, “but I want each of you to share an experience that you have probably tried to block from your memory … a time when your… person … was violated against your will. This is a time for openness, an opportunity for sharing with your sisters.”
    “Shugie Sussman is not my sister,” whispered Binky. “She puked in my Alfa after the Cotillion.”
    “Shhh,” hissed DeDe. She was counting the seconds until the moment of truth. What could she say? She had never been raped, for Christ’s sake! She had never even been mugged.
    “Perhaps it would help,” purred Prue, sensing the reticence of her guests, “if I began by sharing my own tale with you.”
    Binky giggled.
    DeDe kicked her.
    “This is the first time,” continued Prue, “that I have told this story to a living soul. Not counting Reg, of course. It happened, not in the Tenderloin or the Fillmore or the Mission, as you might think, but in … Atherton!”
    The ladies gasped in unison.
    “And,” said the hostess, aborting a pregnant pause, “it was someone you all know very well….”
    Prue lowered her head. “It serves no purpose to dwell on the morbid details…. Now perhaps someone else would like to share with us. What about you, DeDe?” Shit. It never failed.
    DeDe rose haltingly, folding and refolding her napkin. “I
    … I’m … not sure.” Binky