Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

blackness for the light switch, she listened carefully for sounds on the stairs above her. She would die if anyone caught her doing this.
    The key board was just beyond the fuse box, shrouded in cobwebs. She searched for half a minute until she found the key marked “Roof House.” Then she closed the door as quietly as possible and crept up three flights of stairs to the door that was painted orange.
    Although she was certain that Norman was gone, she rapped twice on the door. The sound reverberated in the stairwell. She froze. Had anyone heard it?
    The house was completely still.
    She slipped the key into the lock. A tight fit. She jiggled it until the door swung open and the darkness of the little house engulfed her.
    It took her less than a minute to find the Nutri-Vim suitcase.

At the Grove
    T HE FORESTER WHO ADMITTED THEM NEVER ONCE looked at Anna, curled up placidly on the front seat of Edgar’s Mercedes.
    She winked at the stony sentinel as they drove in.
    “I hope he thinks I’m a hooker.”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
    Anna squeezed his knee. “For him or you, sir?”
    He wouldn’t joke about it. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever brought here, Anna.”
    They parked the car in a lot adjacent to the entrance and began their odyssey on foot.
    “Well, well,” said Anna, as they moved through the towering redwoods. “Anna Madrigal at the Bohemian Grove.”
    “I think that’s as it should be.”
    “Just the same … thank you.”
    “I wish I’d thought of it twenty years ago.”
    “Twelve.”
    Edgar grinned. “Twelve,” he repeated.
    Slipping her arm through his, Anna simply smiled and shook her head in amazement.
    Edgar switched easily into the role of White Rabbit. His Alice blinked her wide blue eyes at him when he showed her the Grove Stage.
    “You performed here?”
    “I stopped the show once as a Valkyrie.”
    “In drag, Edgar?”
    “Hell … the Greeks did it.”
    “The Greeks did a lot of things.”
    He smiled. “Get off my back, will you?”
    “That’s what the Greeks used to say.”
    Edgar slapped her on the behind and chased her up the River Road, ignoring the tightness that had begun to grow in his chest.
    The camps they passed had names like honeymoon suites at the Madonna Inn: Pink Onion, Toyland, Isle of Aves, Monastery, Last Chance….
    Edgar’s camp was Hillbillies.
    A two-story chalet dominated the enclave, opening onto a courtyard with a barbecue pit. Admitting himself with a key, Edgar led Anna to the second floor, where a couch and a stone fireplace awaited them.
    Anna grinned slyly. “Oh, I get it!”
    He smiled like a satyr.
    “Don’t look so smug, Edgar Halcyon. I can match your decadence any day!”
    She reached into the pocket of her peacoat and produced a thin tortoise-shell cigarette case. She extracted a joint.
    “Anna …”
    “It’s good for what ails you.”
    He arched an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”
    “I’m sorry. I … Damn, I’m usually so good with words.”
    His smile forgave her. She kept the joint held out for him.
    “Anna … can’t you just make do with the last of a breed?”
    She tapped the joint against her lower lip, then returned it to the case. “Damn right,” she said softly.
    Wrapped in an Indian blanket, they sat in front of the fire.
    “If this were the old days, we could run away together to the wilds.”
    She rearranged his white mane with her fingers. “We’re already in the wilds, aren’t we?”
    “Then … wilder wilds.”
    “That would be lovely.”
    “We don’t have to go back, Anna.”
    “Yes we do.”
    He turned and stared into the fire. “Would you have told me, if Mr. Williams hadn’t come along?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “It wasn’t … necessary.”
    “You’re still beautiful, Anna.”
    “Thank you.”
    “What shall I tell him tonight?”
    Anna shrugged. “Tell him … his rent’s due.”
    Edgar laughed, hugging her. “One more question.”
    “What?”
    “Why haven’t you invited me to your party?”
    “Now, how on earth …?”
    “I heard Mary Ann talking about it.”
    She smiled at him in wonderment. “You dear man.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question.”
    “Is eight o’clock O.K.?”
    He nodded. “Right after I finish with Mr. Williams.”

Art for Art’s Sake
    M ARY ANN’S MORNING WAS A HELLISH BLUR OF RE membered images. Petrified of meeting Norman in the hallway, she crept out of the house and ran down the lane to Leavenworth Street. She caught the