Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

… and realized, too late, what was about to happen. The blond man wasn’t turning.
    He was stopping.
    And Michael had forgotten how to stop.
    Clutching desperately at the air, his hands sought anchorage on the sacred oxford-cloth shirttail. His right leg buckled under him, as he skidded unceremoniously into the iron railing, dragging his Galahad behind him.
    The two black kids backtracked momentarily, studied the carnage with undisguised glee, and skated off again.
    Michael’s face was covered with blood. The blond man helped him to his feet.
    “Jesus. Are you all right?”
    Michael poked his face cautiously with his fingertips. “It’s my nose. It’s O.K. It bleeds if you don’t talk nice to it.”
    “Are you sure? Can I get you a Kleenex?”
    “Thanks. I think I’ll hobble off to the head.”
    When he returned, the blond man was waiting for him. “They just announced ‘couples only,’ “ he grinned. “You man enough for that?”
    Michael grinned back. “Sure. Just tell me when you’re gonna stop.”
    So this time they moved as a unit, hand gripped in hand, under the twirling mirror ball.
    “My name is Jon,” said the blond man.
    “I’m Michael,” said Michael, just as his nose started to bleed again.

Coed Steam
    V ALENCIA STREET, WITH ITS UNION HALLS AND MEXI can restaurants and motorcycle repair shops, was an oddly squalid setting for the gates of heaven.
    For Brian, though, that was part of the turn-on.
    He basked in the squalor, the teenager-in-Tijuana feeling that came over him whenever he caught sight of that seedy neon sign: FOR BETTER HEALTH—STEAM BATHS.
    Behind the façade, in a tiny entrance alcove, he flashed his laminated photo ID card and forked out five dollars to the guy in the admission booth.
    Four dollars for admission.
    One dollar for The Party.
    The Party made Mondays special at the Sutro Bath House. Women were admitted free, and tonight there were at least
    a dozen.
    There were twice as many men, mingling with the women in a space that seemed strangely reminiscent of a rumpus room in Walnut Creek: rosy-shaded lamps, mismatched furniture, and a miniature electric train that chugged noisily along a shelf around the perimeter of the room.
    A television set mounted on the wall offered Phyllis to the partygoers.
    On the opposite wall a movie screen flickered with vintage pornography.
    The partygoers were naked, though some of them chose the shelter of a bath towel.
    And most of them were watching Phyllis.
    Brian stripped in the locker room. Overhead, in a plastic arbor, a mechanical canary twittered incessantly. He smiled at it, then wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back to the television lounge.
    In the hallway, he met one of the hostesses.
    “Hi, Frieda.”
    “How’s it goin’, Brian?”
    “Just got here. Any hassles tonight?” Frieda’s job was to ensure that women at the baths weren’t harassed by the men … unless they wanted to be.
    She shook her head. “Mellow as ever.”
    “That’s too bad.”
    Frieda grinned, pinching him on the butt. “Go play with yourself, pig.”
    Then she was off again, walking her rounds in a T-shirt that said: WE DARE YOU.
    Brian decided it was still too early to head for the orgy room. The Party was going full tilt. Most people would chow down on cheese and cold cuts before heading upstairs. And Phyllis wasn’t over.
    Adjusting his towel, he sauntered up to a blond woman with an all-over tan.
    “Can I buy you some salami?”
    “Now that’s a new one.”
    He grinned. “I swear I didn’t mean it that way.”
    “I’m a vegetarian.” She smiled back.
    “Me too.” He extended his hand. “Put it there.”
    She studied him for several seconds, then asked flatly: “What kind?”
    “Uh … you know, strict.”
    “With occasional lapses into lacto and ovo, huh?”
    “Yes. Except on weekends and nights when I’m stoned. Then I’m a steako-lacto-ovo … or maybe a porkchopo-lactoovo …”
    She smirked at his fraud. “You’re a turko … that’s what you are!”
    “I knew we’d hit on it.”
    “Actually, I almost never make it with vegetarians.”
    “The woman has taste.”
    “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
    “I like my line better.”
    “No … I’m serious. Didn’t we play Earth Ball together at the New Games this year?”
    “No, but I …”
    “You into whales?”
    “What?”
    “Whales. Saving whales.”
    Brian shook his head apologetically, wishing to hell he’d saved a whale or