Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

She had a perky, independent spirit that he admired, and he was relieved to discover that he was attracted to her. Even sexually.
    “Betty wanted to get married and move back to Minneapolis. It was she who proposed, in fact, and Andy decided that this might be the best cure for his problem. So … they did just that. Andy fulfilled his responsibilities as a husband by working in a bookstore in Minneapolis. A year later, a little girl was born to the couple. They named her Mona, after Andy’s estranged mother back in Winnemucca.
    “None of it worked. Not for Andy, anyway. He ended up leaving his wife and child—deserting them—when the child was two years old. For the next fifteen years, he virtually dropped out of sight, drifting from city to city, a miserable, self-pitying creature who had botched his own life and the lives of the people around him. All of that ended, however, when Andy was forty-four. That was when he picked up the pieces and traveled to Denmark and spent his life savings on a sex change.”
    “And came back as Anna Madrigal.” It was Brian who supplied this information. More fascinated than shocked, he smiled at the landlady.
    She smiled back. “It’s a nice name, don’t you think? It’s an anagram.”
    “But if Mona is your daughter …? Well, I thought you said she doesn’t know.”
    “She doesn’t. She moved to San Francisco three or four years ago, and shortly thereafter I read an item in Herb Caen’s column about a Mona Ramsey working at Halcyon Communications. I knew there couldn’t be that many Mona Ramseys in the world, so I did a little checking, and I cornered her one night at the Savoy-Tivoli.”
    “And?”
    “She liked me, if you please. So I invited her to come live at Barbary Lane. She fancies herself a bohemian, and I think she rather relished the idea of having a transsexual as a landlady.”
    “She knew that, then?”
    “Oh, yes. From the beginning.”
    “Does your … your wife know where you are? Or your mother?”
    Mrs. Madrigal shook her head. “They must think I’m dead.” She smiled faintly. “Of course, Andy is.”
    “And now you think Mona’s found out you’re her father and freaked out over it?”
    “It’s possible, don’t you think?”
    He smiled. “I’m not thinking very clearly right now.”
    “You poor boy!”
    “I’m … I’m very flattered that you told me, Mrs. Madrigal.”
    “Good. Now can we smoke that joint?”
    He laughed. “The sooner the … Wait a minute. How can Anna Madrigal be an anagram for Andy Ramsey?”
    “It’s not.”
    “But you said …”
    “I said it was an anagram. I didn’t say what for.”
    “Then what is it?”
    “My dear boy,” said the landlady, lighting a joint at last, “you are talking to a Woman of Mystery!”

Once in a Blue Moon
    B OBBI BUZZED AROUND MONA LIKE A BRIDESMAID MAKING last-minute adjustments to a bridal gown. “I think you’ve got the headpiece on backward, Judy. Try it … no, the other way. There. Look how pretty that is!”
    “For Christ’s sake, Bobbi. It’s not supposed to b e pretty!”
    “Well, you know. Anyway, you are pretty. You should be real proud.”
    Mona managed a tiny smile. “Stop trying to cheer me up.”
    “You’re gonna be the best yet, Judy. He’s gonna love you!”
    “He’d better not.”
    Bobbi giggled. “Don’t worry. Lots of our customers are like him.”
    “Like this? ” Mona pointed to her costume.
    “No, but they … well, they don’t wanna screw you. They just want … like special services they can’t get anywhere else. Like I had this one guy from Stockton who wanted me to wear black lace panties and sit on his knee while he dictated his will to me.”
    “Sure.”
    “I swear, Judy. And it took forever. I had to go see Dr. Craig that week.”
    “Why?”
    Bobbi tittered. “He said I had single-handedly turned writer’s cramp into a venereal disease.”
    Still wearing the costume, Mona wandered back to the parlor and took a beer out of the refrigerator behind the bar. She longed for a joint.
    Charlene appeared and smirked at Mona’s outfit. “Mighty early, aren’t you?”
    “I don’t like to be rushed.”
    “He’s not comin’ for an hour.”
    “It’s O.K.”
    “You’ll have B.O.”
    “Lay off, Charlene!”
    “Nervous, ain’t you?” Her tone was openly bitchy now. She resents me, thought Mona. It pisses her off that Mother Mucca likes me.
    “I’m fine,” said Mona blandly.
    “Maybe so,” said Charlene,