Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

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The Anniversary Tango
    S O WHERE’S OUR WANDERING BOY TONIGHT?” ASKED Mrs. Madrigal, pouring Mona a glass of sherry.
    “Michael?”
    “Do you know any other wandering boys?”
    “I wish I did.”
    “Mona! Have you two quarreled or something?”
    “No. I didn’t mean it like that.” She ran her palm along the worn red velvet on the arm of the chair. “Michael’s gone to a costume party.”
    The landlady pulled her chair closer to Mona’s. She smiled. “I think Brian’s at home tonight.”
    “Christ! You sound just like my mother!”
    “Stop avoiding the issue. Don’t you like Brian?”
    “He’s a womanizer.”
    “So?”
    “So I don’t need that right now, thank you.”
    “You could have fooled me.”
    Mona gulped her sherry, avoiding Mrs. Madrigal’s eyes. “Is that your answer for everything?”
    The landlady chuckled. “It isn’t my answer for everything. It’s the answer for everything…. C’mon, Calamity Jane, get your coat. I’ve got two tickets to Beach Blanket Babylon .”
    Warmed by a pitcher of sangria, the two women unwound amid the rococo funk of Club Fugazi. When the revue was over, Mrs. Madrigal stayed seated, chatting easily with the wine-flushed strangers around her.
    “Oh, Mona … I feel … immortal right now. I’m very happy to be here with you.”
    Sentiment shot from the hip embarrassed Mona. “It’s a wonderful show,” she said, burying her face in a wineglass.
    Mrs. Madrigal let a smile bloom slowly on her angular face. “You’d be so much happier if you could see yourself the way I see you.”
    “Nobody’s happy. What’s happy? Happiness is over when the lights come on.”
    The older woman poured herself some more sangria. “Screw that,” she said quietly.
    “What?”
    “Screw that. Wash your mouth out. Who taught you that half-assed existential drivel?”
    “I don’t see why it should matter to you.”
    “No. I suppose you don’t.”
    Mona was puzzled by the hurt look in her companion’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a bitch tonight. Look … let’s go somewhere for coffee, O.K.?”
    The sight of the Caffè Sport gave Mona an instant shiver of nostalgia.
    Mrs. Madrigal had planned it that way.
    “God,” said Mona, grinning at the restaurant’s Neapolitan bric-a-brac. “I’d almost forgotten what a trip this place is!”
    They took a small table in the back, next to a dusty “Roman ruin” basrelief which a loving, but practical, artist had protected with chicken wire. A tango was playing on the jukebox.
    Mrs. Madrigal ordered a bottle of Verdicchio.
    When the wine came, she lifted her glass to Mona. “To three more,” she said merrily.
    “Three more whats?”
    “Years. It’s our anniversary.”
    “What?”
    “You’ve been my tenant for three years. Tonight.”
    “How in God’s name would you ever remember a thing like that?”
    “I’m an elephant, Mona. Old and very battered … but happy.”
    Mona smiled affectionately, raising her glass. “Well, here’s to elephants. I’m glad I chose Barbary Lane.”
    Anna shook her head. “Wrong, dear.”
    “What?”
    “You didn’t choose Barbary Lane. It chose you.”
    “What does that mean?”
    Mrs. Madrigal winked. “Finish your wine first.”

Bells Are Ringing
    L ETTING THE CRISIS PHONE RING, MARY ANN POUNDED on the bathroom door.
    “Vincent, listen to me. Nothing’s as bad as you think it is! Do you hear me, Vincent?”
    She made a hasty mental inventory of the items in the cabinet over the sink. Were there scissors? Or knives? Or razors?
    RRRRINNNGGGG!
    “Vincent! I have to answer the phone, Vincent! Will you just say something? Vincent, for God’s sake!”
    RRRINNNNGGGG!
    “Vincent, you are a child of the universe! No less than the trees and the stars! You have a right to be here, Vincent! And whether or … whether or not … Today is the first day of the rest of your life….”
    Nausea swept over her in waves. She ran from the bathroom door and lunged at the telephone. “Bay Area Crisis Switchboard,” she panted.
    The voice on the other end was high-pitched and wheezy, like some Disney forest creature receding into senility.
    “Who are you?”
    “Uh … Mary Ann Singleton.”
    “You’re new.”
    “Sir, could you hold …?”
    “Where’s Rebecca? I always talk to Rebecca.”
    She held her hand over the mouthpiece. “VINCENT!”
    Silence.
    “VINCENT!”
    The reply was strangely subdued. “What?”
    “Are you all right,