Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

cart.
    “Can’t leave you alone for a minute.” He was talking to Robert.
    Robert chuckled. “Michael … this is Mary Ann …”
    “Singleton,” said Mary Ann.
    “This is my roommate, Michael. She’s been helping me with hollandaise, Michael.”
    “Good,” said Michael, smiling at Mary Ann. “He’s awful at hollandaise.”
    Robert shrugged. “Michael’s the master chef in the house. That entitles him to make life miserable for me.” He grinned at his roommate.
    Mary Ann’s palms were sweating.
    “I’m not much of a cook, either,” she said. Why in the world was she siding with Robert? Robert didn’t need her help. Robert didn’t know she was there.
    “She’s been a lot of help,” said Robert. “That’s more than I can say for some people.”
    “Temper,” Michael grinned.
    “Well,” said Mary Ann feebly. “I guess I’d better … finish up.”
    “Thanks for your help,” said Robert. “Really.”
    “Nice to meet you,” said Michael.
    “Same here,” said Mary Ann, pushing her cart in the direction of the paper-supplies aisle. When Connie rounded the corner several seconds later, she found her friend standing glumly by herself, squeezing a roll of Charmin.
    “Hot damn!” said the stewardess. “This place is Pickup City tonight!”
    Mary Ann threw the toilet paper into her cart. “I’ve got a headache, Connie. I think I’ll walk home. O.K.?”
    “Well … hang on a sec. I’ll come with you.”
    “Connie, I … I’d like to be alone, O.K.?”
    “Sure. O.K.”
    As usual, she looked hurt.

Connie’s Bummer Night
    C ONNIE CAME HOME FROM THE MARINA SAFEWAY AN hour after Mary Ann did.
    Noisily, she dropped her groceries on the kitchen counter. “Well,” she said, walking into the living room, “I’m ready for Union Street. I suppose you’re ready for bed?”
    Mary Ann nodded. “Job-hunting and moving tomorrow. I need my strength.”
    “Abstinence causes pimples.”
    “I’ll remember that,” said Mary Ann, as Connie stalked out the door.
    Mary Ann ate dinner in front of the television. She had steak, salad and Tater Tots, the fare that Connie swore by for keeping men happy. She checked out Connie’s record collection (The Carpenters, Percy Faith, 101 Strings), then looked at the pictures in More Joy of Sex. She fell asleep on the sofa shortly before midnight.
    When she awoke, the room was filled with light. A garbage truck rumbled along Greenwich Street. A key chain was clinking against the front door.
    Connie lumbered in. “I cannot believe the assholes in this town!”
    Mary Ann sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Bad night, huh?”
    “Bad night, bad morning, bad week, bad year. Weirdos! Goddammit, I can pick ‘em. If there’s a weirdo around for a hundred goddamn miles, good ?l’ Connie Bradshaw will be there to make a date with him. Fuck!”
    “How ‘bout some coffee?”
    “What’s the matter with me, Mary Ann? Will you tell me that? I have two tits, a nice ass. I wash. I’m a good listener….”
    “C’mon. We both need coffee.”
    The kitchen was too perversely cheerful for an early-morning soul-baring. Mary Ann winced at the Doris Day yellow walls and the little windowed boxes full of dried beans.
    Connie devoured a bowl of Trix. “I think I’ll become a nun,” she said.
    “They’ll love your outfit at Dance Your Ass Off.”
    “Not funny.”
    “O.K. What happened?”
    “You don’t wanna know.”
    “Yes I do. You went to Union Street, right?”
    “Perry’s. Then Slater Hawkins. But the real bummer was at Thomas Lord’s.”
    Mary Ann poured her a cup of coffee. “What happened?”
    “Fuck if I know. I was having a perfectly innocent drink at the bar when I noticed this guy sitting over by the fire. I recognized him right away, because him and me did a little number last month on his houseboat in Sausalito.”
    “A little number?”
    “Fucked.”
    “Thank you.”
    “So … I walked over to where this guy was sitting. Jerry something. A German name. Buckskin pants and a turquoise squash blossom necklace and a pair of those John Denvertype glasses. Gorgeous, in a … you know … Marin kind of way. And I said, ‘Hi, Jerry, who’s keeping the houseboat warm?’ and the asshole just stared at me like I was some whore on Market Street or something. I mean, like he didn’t even recognize me. I was mortified .”
    “I guess so.”
    “So, finally, I said, ‘Connie Bradshaw from the Friendly Skies of United.’ Only, I said it in … like a