Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

bedroom.
    Mona forsook her mantra and recited a childhood prayer. She was halfway through it when the doorbell rang. There was no way out now. No excuses. No postponements.
    She opened the door just as D’or reached the landing on the stairs.
    “I’m sorry we’re late,” said Leroy Wilson quietly. “This is Mrs….”
    His eyes, climbing to the stairs, grew large and glassy. “Dorothy? My God! Dorothy, what in God’s …?”
    D’orothea stood frozen on the landing. “Mona … Jesus, Mona, what have you …?” She spun around and dashed back up the stairs, weeping like a madwoman.
    Mona was wrecked, speechless before Leroy Wilson and the short, dumpy woman who had come in too late to witness the bizarre scenario.
    The short, dumpy white woman.
    With the Wilsons in limbo downstairs, D’or wept like a baby in Mona’s arms.
    “I swear, Mona … I swear to God … I never meant to lie to you. I wanted to work … I just wanted to work. When I moved to New York five years ago, nobody would hire me. Nobody! Then I did a couple of jobs in dark makeup … one of those Arab harem girl things … and all of a sudden people started asking for the foxy black chick … I didn’t plan it. It just sort of …”
    “D’or, I don’t see what …”
    “I’m a fraud, Mona!” Her sobs grew louder. “I’m nothing but … a white girl from Oakland!”
    “D’or … your skin …?”
    “Those pills. The ones you found in my drawer. They’re for vitiligo.”
    “I don’t …”
    “It’s a disease that causes white spots to break out on your body. People with vitiligo take the pill to make their pigment darker. If you’re white, and take enough of them over a two-month period … Didn’t you ever read Black Like Me?”
    “A long time ago.”
    “Well, that’s what I did. I found a dermatologist in New Orleans who would give me the pills, along with ultraviolet treatments, and I disappeared for three months and came back to New York as a black model. I made money, Mona … more money than I had ever seen in my life. Naturally, I dropped all contact with my parents, but I never intended …”
    “But doesn’t it wear off?”
    “Of course. It’s a constant strain. I had to sneak off every few months or so to get more ultraviolet treatments … and, of course, I kept taking the pills … and finally one day I just couldn’t take the sham anymore, so I decided …”
    “… to move to San Francisco and go white.”
    D’or nodded, wiping her eyes. “Naturally, I felt that you would be my refuge until … I had changed back … and I always planned to see my parents again, but not until …”
    “Why didn’t you tell me, D’or?”
    “I tried. I tried lots of times. But every time I got close you would whip up a mess of chitlins or start talking about my beloved African heritage … and I felt like such a phony. I didn’t want you to be … ashamed of me.”
    Mona smiled. “Do I look ashamed?”
    “This really is my hair, Mona. I do have naturally curly hair.”
    “Do you have any idea what I thought, D’or?”
    D’or shook her head.
    “I thought you were dying. I freaked. I thought you were taking those pills because you were dying.”
    “Of what?”
    “What else? Sickle cell anemia.”

The Confrontation
    N ORMAN WAS ALMOST RUNNING NOW, LURCHING recklessly toward the cypresses on the edge of the rise.
    “Jus’ shuddup, O.K.? Jus’ shuddup!”
    “I’m not shutting up, Norman! I’m not standing by while you exploit that child in such a horrible, disgusting …”
    “It’s none o’ your business!”
    “I saw those magazines in your suitcase, Norman!”
    “What were you doin’ in my suitcase?”
    “You’re sick, Norman. You’re …” She was breathing almost as heavily as he was. She pulled at his arm. “Will you stop?”
    He obeyed, jerking to a halt at the top of the rise. Swaying for a moment, he clutched at her to regain his balance. She gasped, not at him, but at the stomach-churning scene that confronted them in the fog. “Norman … get back!” “Wha …?”
    “It’s a cliff! Get back! Please!”
    He stared at her dumbly, then staggered several steps in her direction. She latched on to his arm, hooking her other arm around a tree.
    Norman was indignant. “Thass not what I do, ya know.”
    “Norman, if you don’t …”
    “Those stupid pictures are nothin’! I got bigger things’n that going for me!”
    “Norman …” She softened her tone somewhat, leading him