Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

could get together for a little chat sometime soon?”
    “Yes. Well, of course.”
    “How’s tomorrow?”
    “Fine. Uh … shall we meet somewhere for lunch?”
    “Actually, we prefer to keep a lower profile. May I call on you at Halcyon Hill?”
    “Certainly. When?”
    “Oh … twoish?”
    “Lovely.”
    “Good. Ta-ta, then.”
    “Ta-ta,” said Frannie, feeling her heart rise to her throat.

Looking for a Lady
    B RIAN SPENT THE MORNING IN WASHINGTON SQUARE, sunning his body for a person who would probably never know the difference. As he trudged back up Union Street to Barbary Lane, he suddenly decided that it was time to confront his fantasy face to face.
    He turned off Union at Leavenworth and walked a block up the hill to Green Street, where the Superman Building shimmered magically in the sunshine.
    Up close, its moderne hieroglyphics seemed to take on a kind of mystical significance, as if they themselves concealed the secret identity of Lady Eleven.
    As Brian approached, a Luxor cab deposited a passenger on the sidewalk. An LOL. And she was headed for the door of the Superman Building.
    “Excuse me, ma’am?”
    “Yes?”
    “I’m looking for a friend of mine who lives here. It’s kind of embarrassing, actually. I’ve forgotten her name. She lives on the eleventh floor. She’s about my age, with longish hair and—”
    The old woman’s face slammed shut on him. Brian was certain she carried Mace in her purse. “The names are by the buzzers,” she snarled.
    “Oh. Yes, I see.”
    He walked to the buzzers, feeling the woman’s eyes on him all the time. He stood there for a moment, pretending to survey the names. Then he turned around and faced his white-gloved accuser.
    “I’m not a rapist, lady.”
    The old woman glared at him, drew herself up and stormed into the building. She spoke several words to the security guard, who turned and studied Brian, then said something to the LOL.
    Brian continued to scan the names, hoping his nonchalance didn’t appear too hoky. He was burning with guilt and hated himself for it.
    There were six names listed on the eleventh floor: Jenkins, Lee, Mosely, Patterson, Fuentes and Matsumoto. A big goddamn help.
    Maybe if he left a note with the guard … No, the asshole was already giving him the evil eye. And there was no way he could lurk around the lobby until Lady Eleven showed up. On the other hand, if he …
    “Can I help you?” The guard had moved in. Trying his damnedest to look like Karl Malden.
    “Well, I’m looking for a young woman.”
    The guard’s expression said: I’ll just bet you are, sonny boy.
    “Forget it,” said Brian.
    He would see her in twelve hours, anyway.
    He reversed his course again and headed back down Union Street to La Contadina. He needed a glass of wine to steady his nerves. Sometimes a fascist in uniform could screw up your whole day.
    When he reached the restaurant, an outlandish figure waved at him from a huge, thronelike chair by the window. It was Mrs. Madrigal, decked out in a paisley turban, blue eye shadow and harem pajamas. She beckoned him in.
    “Will you join me?”
    “Sure,” he said, sitting down across from her. He felt slightly out of sync in his gym shorts and sweat shirt. Mrs. Madrigal herself seemed somewhat frayed around the edges.
    “Brian … you haven’t seen Mona, have you?”
    “No. Not for a week or so.”
    “I’m worried. She left me a note when Mary Ann and Michael left, saying she’d be gone for a while, but I haven’t heard a word since. I thought maybe you … Nothing, huh?”
    Brian shook his head. “Sorry.”
    The landlady fidgeted with her turban. “She can be … quite foolish sometimes.”
    “I don’t know her that well. How long has she been at the house?”
    “Oh … well over three years. Brian, has she ever … talked to you about me?”
    He thought for a moment. “Never. Why?”
    “I’m afraid I’ve been a little foolish myself. I just hope it’s not too late.”
    “I don’t …”
    “Mona is my daughter, Brian.”
    Her tenants, thought Brian, are always her “children.” He smiled understandingly. “You must be very close to her.”
    “No, Brian. I mean she’s my real daughter.”
    His jaw went slack. “Your … Does Mona know that?”
    “No.”
    “I thought she said her mother lived in—”
    “I’m not her mother, Brian. I’m her father.”
    Before he could utter a word, she pressed a finger against her lips, signaling him to remain silent.