Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

don’t get it.”
    “Oh, silly,” chirped Bobbi. “She tinkled on them from up there. While she was swinging, see?”
    “I think I saw her on The Gong Show once.”
    “Huh?”
    “Nothing. What happened to her, anyway?”
    “Tanya? She switched to a house in Elko.”
    “Was that good?”
    Bobbi shrugged. “For her, I guess. Mother Mucca was plenty pissed. But Tanya’ll be back, probably. There aren’t that many good houses in these parts. Elko, Winnemucca, Wells … that’s about it.”
    Mona suppressed a smirk. This dippy child who said tinkled when she meant pissed and pissed when she meant angry could still distinguish between a respectable and an unrespectable whorehouse. “Where are the crummy ones?” Mona asked.
    Bobbi pursed her lips thoughtfully, obviously delighted with her role as the Duncan Hines of whorehouses. “Oh … Mina, I guess, and Eureka and Battle Mountain. Battle Mountain is definitely the pits. When a girl hits that circuit … well, she might as well hang it up.”
    Bobbi’s income, Mona learned, was about three hundred dollars a week. That was after Mother Mucca had taken her cut and Bobbi had paid her room and board.
    All of the girls at the Blue Moon Lodge were required to work three weeks straight before taking a week off. The state saw to it that they were issued a work permit, fingerprinted, photographed and examined by a doctor prior to setting up shop—or swings.
    The most profitable season, according to Bobbi, was summer, when transcontinental traffic on Interstate 80 was heavier, and a period between mid-September and mid-October, when deer hunters invaded the area.
    In accordance with the Municipal Code of Winnemucca, the girls of the Blue Moon Lodge took turns in exercising their privilege to go into town for shopping, movies and medical attention.
    There was also a law that forbade a woman from working in a Winnemucca brothel if a member of her family resided in the county.
    “C’mon,” bubbled Bobbi, as soon as Mona pulled herself together. “I wanna show you something neat.”
    Mona braced herself for the abomination. A rubber room, perhaps? A mirrored ceiling? A sex-crazed donkey? A crotch-less Naugahyde wet suit by Frederick’s of Hollywood?
    Bobbie led the way out of the cubicle into the sunshine. The warm desert air made Mona acutely aware of the original purpose of her escape from San Francisco. Communion with Nature. Harmony with the Elements.
    But no … oh, no. That was not Buddha’s Design.
    Buddha, for some goddamn reason, wanted her to have a room with hooks in the ceiling.
    Their destination was Bobbi’s cubicle, a space identical to Mona’s, three doors closer to the main building. Bobby swung open the door with a flourish.
    “Over there,” she exclaimed, “on the shelf above the bed.”
    Mona’s jaw went slack.
    “Dolls of All Nations,” said Bobbi. “I’ve been collecting since I was twelve.”
    “They’re … very nice,” said Mona.
    The child-whore beamed proudly. “Their faces are really all the same, but … well, I guess you can’t have everything.”
    “No.”
    “You can touch ‘em if you want.”
    Mona went to the shelf and pretended to examine one of the dolls. “Very pretty,” she said quietly.
    “You picked my favorite. Norway.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Do you think girls in Norway really have dresses like …? Is something the matter, Judy?”
    “No, I … I was just distracted for a minute.”
    Moments later, Mona excused herself and returned to her own cubicle, where she locked herself in the bathroom and cried for a while.
    Angel dust did that to her sometimes.

Day of the Iguana
    U NDERNEATH A THATCHED UMBRELLA AT THE POSADA Vallarta, the unlikely threesome sipped Coco Locos and gazed out at the bluest of oceans.
    “This is nice,” said Burke, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m glad you two let me join you. I don’t exactly … relate to most of the people on the ship.”
    Michael grinned over the top of his coconut. “You don’t get off on blue rinse?”
    “Blue what?”
    “Old ladies,” translated Mary Ann.
    “Oh.” He laughed warmly, looking first at Mary Ann, then at Michael. “I guess I’m a little out of it, huh?”
    Mary Ann shook her head. “Mouse talks in code, Burke. Half the time, I don’t have the slightest idea what he’s talking about.”
    “How long have you two … known each other?”
    Michael glanced at Mary Ann. “How long ago was the Safeway? Nine months? A