Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

fingernails digging into her flesh. The … thing … he kept in the bedside table.
    Her secret, however, was still intact, and she doubted very seriously that the columnist would demand a repeat performance. By the time she reached Upper Montgomery Street the horrid indignity of it all seemed as dim and distant as Cotillion days.
    Riding the elevator to the penthouse, she felt almost noble about it. She had sacrificed something, bitten the bullet … for the sake of her marriage, for the sake of the Halcyon family name.
    “How were the whales?” asked Beauchamp.
    “Same as before,” she lied. “We’re still trying to set a date for the benefit.”
    “I think you’d be better off in Leukemia.”
    “Muffy does Leukemia. It’s not very original.”
    “Crippled children, then.”
    “God, no. We went to at least three crippled children tea dances last month. Anyway, you don’t have to have your picture taken with whales.” She sat in his lap and planted a kiss on his mouth. “You don’t look like you missed me that much.”
    “I’ve been reading.”
    “What?”
    “You’re sitting on it.”
    “Oh.” She shifted onto the arm of the wing chair as Beauchamp held up a copy of Some Kind of Hero.
    “James Kirkwood,” he said.
    DeDe studied the book jacket. “It’s about Vietnam?”
    “Yeah. Sort of.”
    “Beauchamp?”
    “Huh?”
    “Take me to bed, will you?”
    “It’s been a long day, DeDe.”
    “Just to cuddle, O.K.?”
    He dropped the book on the floor and smiled at her. “O.K.”
    “Beauchamp?”
    “Mmm?”
    “We’re doing better, don’t you think?”
    “At what?”
    “You know … living together.”
    “What do you want? A Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval?”
    “Really, though, I think …”
    “Marriage is a bitch, DeDe … for everybody. Other people don’t do much better than we do. I’ve told you that all along.”
    “Still … I think we’re learning more … growing.”
    “O.K. If that makes you feel any better.”
    “Doesn’t it make you feel better?”
    “I suppose.”
    “Before … I really didn’t think we were mature enough to raise children.”
    “Jesus Christ!”
    “Well, you have to admit we’ve weathered …”
    “How many times do I have to tell you, DeDe? I have no intention of …”
    “You! You! It’s my body! What if I want a baby? What about that, huh?”
    He sat up in bed and smirked at her. “Fine. Go get somebody else to knock you up.”
    “You’re disgusting!”
    “Don’t expect me to pay for it, though. Or to live with it.”
    “It? It’s not a thing, Beauchamp. It’s a human being!”
    His eyes burned into her. “Christ! Are you pregnant?”
    “No.”
    “Well, shut up, then … and go to sleep. I’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Ties That Bind
    M ARY ANN SPENT HER LUNCH HOUR AT HASTINGS, picking out just the right tie for Norman. The hint might not be terribly subtle, she decided, but somebody had to do something about that gross, gravy-stained clip-on number.
    Walking back to Jackson Square, she watched as a big yellow Hertz truck parked on Montgomery Street in a commercial zone.
    The burly driver sauntered to the back of the truck and opened the double doors.
    Inside were at least two dozen young women, packed as tightly as cattle in a disinfectant chamber. They were giggling nervously, and most of them appeared to be dressed for office work.
    “O.K.,” said the driver. “Stand on the lift. Six at a time.” He returned to the front of the truck, as the young women waited obediently to be lowered to the street. When the last of them had stepped off the hydraulic lift, the driver came back to issue them each a cardboard box with a neck strap attached.
    The boxes contained complimentary mini-packs of Newport Lights.
    Mary Ann shuddered. So that’s where they came from! Those pathetic creatures who stood on street corners, pushing free cigarettes and lucky wooden nickels and garish fliers for yet another soup-and-sandwich spot.
    There were worse jobs than hers. Plenty of them.
    She quickened her pace. She was already fifteen minutes late.
    Back at the agency, she breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Halcyon was still in conference with Adorable.
    She opened the tie box and looked at her purchase again. It was silk, with maroon and navy stripes. Conservative but … sharp. Just the thing Norman needed.
    She doodled on a note pad with a Flair, ending up with this:
don’t listen when they scoff
that you are old and i am