Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

me …”
    “What the hell is the matter with you? Christ, I’m supposed to be the nervous one in this relationship! I brought you up here to ask you to go away with me!”
    She spun around to face him. “What?”
    “I want you to go away with me.”
    “But we … Where?”
    “Any place you want. We could take a cruise to Mexico. I could make it look like a business trip. Look at me, Anna! You can see how much time I’ve got left!”
    There were tears in her eyes. “I can see … a beautiful man.”
    “It’s yes, then?”
    “You can’t do that to Frannie.”
    “Would you let me worry about that!”
    “I don’t …” Her voice choked up. “I don’t want you caught up in this, Edgar.”
    “I’m already caught up in it, goddammit!”
    “It’s not too late. You can tell Mr. Williams … you can tell him … Hell, I don’t know … deny it. He can’t have positive proof about us. If we never see each other again …”
    He grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You’re way out of line, lady.”
    “God help me … I know!” She was sobbing now.
    “Anna, please don’t …”
    “I’m a liar, Edgar. I love you with all my heart, but I’m a liar!”
    “What the hell are you talking about?”
    She composed herself somewhat and turned away from him. “It’s worse than you think,” she said.

The Baker’s Wife
    F OR A MOMENT, MONA WAS SPEECHLESS, CONFRONTING this stranger at the Twinkie factory at midnight. This white stranger.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”
    “I … excuse me … I think I must want the other Mr. Wilson.”
    “Don? The wrapper? I’ll get him, if you’d …”
    “No. Wait, please … Do you have a daughter named Dorothy?”
    Leroy Wilson’s face went whiter still. “Oh, my God!”
    “Mr. Wilson, I …”
    “You’re from the Red Cross or something? Something’s happened to her?”
    “Oh. no! She’s fine. Really! I saw her tonight.”
    “She’s in San Francisco?”
    “Yes.”
    The relief in his expression gave way to bitterness. “I wouldn’t expect we’d hear from her.”
    “She lives here now, Mr. Wilson.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m sorry … Mona Ramsey. I room with your daughter.”
    “What do you want from me?”
    “I want to … Wouldn’t you like to see Dorothy, Mr. Wilson?”
    He snorted. “What we want doesn’t have much to do with it, does it?”
    “I think … I think Dorothy would really like …”
    “Dorothy doesn’t even approve of me and her mother.”
    So that was it, thought Mona. The sophisticated Miss D’orothea Wilson was the product of a lower-class interracial marriage. And it bugged the hell out of her.
    Which explained, among other things, D’orothea’s semi-Caucasian features and her fierce reluctance to deal with her African heritage.
    She was, in short, an Oreo.
    Leroy Wilson bought Mona a cup of coffee in the bakery’s second-floor snack bar. Obviously wounded by his daughter’s behavior, he allowed his visitor to do most of the talking.
    “Mr. Wilson, I don’t know why Dorothy decided to … cut off communications with you and Mrs. Wilson … but I think she’s changed now. She wants to live in San Francisco, and I’m sure that means …”
    “I don’t even remember the last time Dorothy wrote us.”
    “It’s easy to lose touch in New York, especially if you’re a model and …”
    “C’mon. Get to the point.”
    Mona set her cup down and looked him in the eye. “I want you and your wife to come to dinner this week.”
    He blinked at her, slack-jawed.
    “It would just be the four of us.”
    “Dorothy knows about this?”
    “Well, uh … no.”
    “I think you’d better run along home.”
    “Mr. Wilson, please …”
    “What do you get out of this, anyway?”
    “Dorothy’s my friend.”
    “That’s not all of it.”
    “It’s such a waste, dammit!”
    He stared at her soberly, and Mona sensed a sort of primitive intuition at work. “Do you talk to your daddy?”
    “Mr. Wilson …”
    “Do you?”
    “I … never knew him.”
    “He passed away?”
    “I don’t know. He left my mother when I was a baby “
    “Oh.”
    “Go ahead. Psyche out my motives, if you want. All I …”
    “O.K. When?”
    “What?”
    “When do you want us to come?”
    “Oh, I’m so …” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him, then backed off, embarrassed. “Is Christmas Eve O.K.?”
    “Yeah,” said Leroy Wilson. “I guess so.”

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