Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

up.”
    Michael grinned at Jon. “My roommate. Brace yourself.” Seconds later, Mona burst through the doorway with a tray of coffee and croissants.
    “Hi! I’m Nancy Drew! You must be the Hardy Boys!”
    “I like her,” said Jon, after Mona swept out. “Does she do that every morning?”
    “No. I think she’s curious.”
    “About what?”
    “You.”
    “Oh … Are you two …?”
    “No. Just friends.”
    “You’ve never …?”
    Michael shook his head. “Never.”
    “Why not?”
    “Why not? Well … let’s see now. How about … I’m queer as a three-dollar bill.”
    “So?”
    “So I’m a virgin with women. A perfect Kinsey six.”
    “Oh.”
    “That freaks you?”
    “No, I just … How old are you?”
    “I hope you’re not a chicken queen. I’m twenty-six.”
    “I’m twenty-eight … and I’m not a chicken queen.”
    “That’s a relief.”
    “What about high school?”
    “B-minus average.”
    Jon smiled. “I mean girls in high school. Didn’t you ever get it on with them?”
    “All I ever did in high school was tool around with the guys and a six-pack of Bud, looking for heterosexuals to beat up.”
    “Is that right?”
    Michael nodded. “You can’t miss ‘em. They walk funny and carry their books against their hips. That’s what you did, wasn’t it … when you were a heterosexual?”
    Jon studied his face for a moment. “Don’t be so defensive. I wasn’t criticizing you.”
    “If it helps any, I didn’t come out until three years ago. I was a eunuch in high school.”
    “I wish I’d known you then.”
    “As opposed to now?”
    “In addition to now.” Jon tousled his hair. “I like you, turkey!”
    Michael was abuzz after Jon left. “He’s incredible, Mona. He’s well-adjusted and self-assured … and he’s a goddamn doctor! Can you imagine me with my very own live-in doctor?”
    “He’s proposed?”
    “Don’t get technical.”
    “What kind of doctor?”
    “A gynecologist.”
    “That oughta come in handy.”
    Michael slapped her on the fanny. “Just let me fantasize, will you?”
    “You’re gonna wanna move out, aren’t you?”
    “Mona!”
    “Well?”
    “You’re my friend, Mona. We’ll always be together in one way or another.”
    “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do? Adopt me?” She walked to the door and opened it, addressing an invisible guest. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Plushbottom! May I present my father, Michael Tolliver, the famous raconteur and bon vivant, and my mother, the gynecologist!”
    Michael shook his head, laughing. “I’d marry you in a second, Mona Ramsey.”
    “If you were the only boy in the world, and I were the only girl. What else is new?”
    He kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll screw this up.”
    “It sounds like you want to.”
    “Spare me the jungian analysis.”
    “Take out the garbage, then. If it happens, it happens.”

The Maestro Vanishes
    T HE PR WOMAN WAS ALMOST AS SHAKEN AS FRANNIE was.
    “Mrs. Halcyon … believe me … we’ve tried our best to …”
    “The party starts in two hours. I’ve notified Women’s Wear Daily, the Chronicle and the Examiner, Carson Callas…. How on God’s green earth can you lose a conductor?”
    The opera publicist’s voice turned starchy. “The Maestro is not … lost, Mrs. Halcyon. We’ve simply been unable to locate him. We’ve left word for him at the Mark, and there’s a good chance he’ll …”
    “What about Cunningham? She’ll come without him, won’t she?”
    “We’re trying to find an alternate escort, in the event that … We’re doing our best, Mrs. Halcyon. Miss Cunningham is not generally compatible with tenors.”
    “Are you telling me she won’t …? Oh, God … Really, this is the shoddiest excuse for … What am I supposed to tell my guests?”
    Beauchamp and DeDe arrived at Halcyon Hill later than planned. DeDe had popped the zipper on her Galanos. Beauchamp, to survive the ordeal, had downed four jiggers ofJ&B.
    “Mother must be dying , “ said DeDe.
    “Stop trying to cheer me up.”
    “God … Carson Callas is here already. He loves to write no-show stories. He absolutely humiliated the Stonecyphers with that article about … Beauchamp, would you please try not to look so bored?”
    “There’s Splinter.”
    “I want a drink, Beauchamp.”
    “Help yourself. I’ll be talking to Splinter.”
    “Beauchamp, if you expect me to go to the bar alone …”
    “Prue Giroux makes her own drinks.”
    “Goddammit,