Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

parents sent me to England for the summer. I stayed with some cousins in a village called Cley-next-the-Sea. I used to walk on the beach looking for carnelians.”
    “Stones?”
    “Beautiful red ones. Orangish-red. One day I met an old lady on the beach. At least, I thought she was old at the time. Her daughter was with her. She was eighteen and beautiful. They asked me to walk with them. They were looking for carnelians too.”
    “Did you do it?”
    “What do you think?”
    “I think Edgar was too busy … or too embarrassed.”
    Edgar stopped and turned to face her. He looked like a lion with a thorn in his paw. “It’s too late, isn’t it, Anna?”
    She dropped her shoes in the sand and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s too late for the girl, Edgar. The old lady’s a pushover.”
    They were under the blanket again.
    “We should get back, Anna.”
    “I know.”
    “I told Frannie I would …”
    “Fine.”
    “Are we making a big mistake?”
    “Oh, I hope so!”
    “You don’t know much about me.”
    “No.”
    “I’m dying, Anna.”
    “Oh … I thought you might be.”
    “You’ve known about …?”
    Anna shrugged. “Why else would Edgar Halcyon do this?”
    “Jesus.”
    She toyed with the white curls on the back of his neck. “How much time have we got?”
    Back at Barbary Lane, Anna soaked in a hot tub. She was humming a very old tune when her buzzer rang.
    She dried off, slipped into her kimono, and buzzed in her visitor.
    “Who is it?” she shouted down the hallway.
    “A friend of Mary Ann Singleton’s,” came the reply. It was a young woman’s voice.
    “She’s out, dear. At the Crisis Switchboard.”
    “Would it be all right if I waited here? In the foyer, I mean? It’s kind of important.”
    Anna walked into the hallway. The young woman was blond and plump, with the face of a lost child. She was carrying a Gucci tote bag.
    “Have a seat, dear,” said the landlady. “Mary Ann should be home soon.”
    Back in the tub, Anna puzzled over the visitor. She looked familiar somehow. Something about the eyes and the line of the jaw.
    Then it hit her.
    She looked like Edgar.

So Where Was Beauchamp?
    T HE WOMAN’S FACE WAS IN THE SHADOWS. SHE HAD gained so much weight that Mary Ann didn’t recognize her immediately.
    “Mary Ann?”
    “Oh …”
    “Beauchamp’s wife. DeDe. Your landlady let me in.”
    “Yes. Mrs. Madrigal.”
    “She was very nice. I hope you don’t mind. I was afraid I’d miss you.”
    “No … that’s fine. Can you come up for a drink?”
    “You’re not expecting … company?”
    “No,” said Mary Ann, already denying the accusation.
    DeDe sat in a yellow vinyl director’s chair, folding her hands across the surface of her tote bag.
    “Would you like some crème de menthe?” asked Mary Ann.
    “Thank you. Do you have white?”
    “White what?”
    “Crème de menthe.”
    “Oh … no … just the other.”
    “Oh … I think I’ll pass.”
    “A Tab or a Fresca?”
    “Really. I’m fine.”
    Mary Ann sank to the edge of the sofa. “But not that fine.” She smiled feebly.
    DeDe looked down at her hands. “No. I guess not. Mary Ann … I’m not here to make a scene.”
    Mary Ann swallowed, feeling her face turn hot.
    “I wanted to bring you this.” DeDe fumbled in the tote bag and produced Mary Ann’s brown-and-white polka-dot scarf. “I found it in Beauchamp’s car.”
    Mary Ann stared at the scarf, dumfounded. “When?”
    “The Monday after you went to Mendocino with him.”
    “Oh.”
    “He told me about that.”
    “I see.”
    “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t care. I mean … I care , but I’ve stopped … exhausting myself over it. I’ve dealt with it. I think I even understand how he … got you involved.”
    “DeDe, I … Why are you here, then?”
    “Because … I’m hoping you’ll tell me the truth.”
    Mary Ann made an impotent gesture with her hands. “I thought I just had.”
    “Were you with him last weekend, Mary Ann?”
    “No! I was …”
    “What about Tuesday before last?”
    Mary Ann’s jaw dropped. “DeDe … I swear to God … I was with Beauchamp one time and one time only. He asked me to go to Mendocino with him because …” She cut herself off.
    “Because what?”
    “It sounds dumb. He … said he wanted someone to talk to. I felt sorry for him. I’ve barely talked to him since.”
    “You’re with him every day.”
    “In the same building. That’s about