Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

picked up the house phone on her vanity. “I’m callin’ Charlene, Judy.”
    “Mona!”
    “You’re so plumb pitiful I don’t even—”
    Mona jerked the phone out of her hand. “Listen to me! I love you, goddammit! It was Andy, wasn’t it? Your son’s name was Andy!”
    A stunned silence, then: “Who told you that?”
    “Who do you think? Charlene? Marnie? Bobbi, maybe? You never told anyone, did you? It must’ve hurt too much to talk about him.” Mona caught her breath, then sank to her knees, taking the old lady’s hands in hers. “Mother Mucca … he told me. Andy told me. I live with him in San Francisco … and he’s my father.”
    The madam’s eyes were full of tears. “I’m an old lady, dolly. A lie can hurt mighty bad.”
    “I would never hurt you, Mother Mucca.”
    “Why … why did you come here?”
    Mona smiled at her. “You picked me up, remember?”
    “It don’t make no sense.”
    “I told you. It’s a miracle! I’m your granddaughter, Mother Mucca. I’ve found my goddamn roots!”
    The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “Who taught you to talk like that, Mona?”

Falling in Love Again
    T HE MAN DANCING WITH MICHAEL COULD TELL THAT something was wrong. “Excuse, please … you know that man?”
    Michael’s condition was almost trancelike. “I … yes. I hope you don’t mind. He’s somebody I used to … I’m sorry, O.K.?”
    The man nodded, apparently more puzzled than offended, and boogied off the dance floor toward the bar. Michael stood frozen in his tracks, composing opening lines. Jon hadn’t seen him yet.
    A scratchy phonograph blared out “Cherchez la Femme.” The same tune they had played at The Endup when Michael won the jocky shorts dance contest … and Dr. Jon Fielding walked out of his life forever.
    Michael’s forever never lasted for long.
    “Hey, greengo! You wan buy my seester? She virgin!”
    “Michael! Christ!”
    “Please, just Michael.”
    Jon hugged him heartily. The kind of hug, Michael noted, that Danny Thomas might have given George Burns on Johnny Carson. “What the hell are you doing here?”
    Michael shrugged. “It’s the only queer joint in Acapulco.”
    Jon laughed. “I mean, in Acapulco?”
    “I’m on a cruise. Ship-type, that is.”
    “The Pacific Princess? ”
    “Yep. What brings you here?”
    “Oh … vaginal infections.”
    “You don’t look sick.”
    The gynecologist grinned. “A convention, turkey.”
    “A million laughs, huh?”
    “It is, actually. We get a lot of free time.”
    That bothered Michael. People he’d been hot for were not supposed to enjoy themselves in his absence. But the doctor was having a ball, so why torture himself? “It’s good seeing you, Jon.”
    “You’re leaving?”
    “Yeah. This place looks like The Kokpit on a bad night. I’ve had enough.”
    Jon gave the terrace another once-over. “I see what you mean.”
    “Yeah. Well, I’m sure you’ll find something.”
    “I thought I had.”
    Michael ignored that. “I guess it gets better as the evening wears on.”
    “I’ve got a car, Michael. We could go for a ride or something.”
    Michael looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Jon. Thanks, though.”
    The doctor smiled faintly. “You’re punishing me, aren’t you?”
    “For what?”
    “For … that night at The Endup.”
    Michael managed a blithe shrug. “It was a tacky scene. I don’t blame you for—”
    “No. I was the tacky one. I was … embarrassed, Michael. I was out with some pissy queens from Seacliff, and I couldn’t handle it. That was my failing, not yours.”
    Michael smiled. “I won, you know.”
    “You should have.”
    “Gracias.”
    They drove to the Capilla de la Paz in Jon’s rented Volkswagen Thing. Like strangers in a foreign city, they chatted breezily about night spots in Acapulco, the boredom of sea cruises and the perils of smoking grass in Mexico.
    The mountaintop chapel was deserted. Above it loomed the leviathan cross, white as bleached bones against the starry sky. They walked to its base in silence.
    “Somebody told me,” said Jon, “that this is a shrine to two brothers who were killed in a plane crash.”
    “That’s nice. I mean … a nice story.”
    “I may have it wrong.”
    “I like the story, anyway.”
    “You can see the ship, see?” Jon pointed to the toy boat twinkling below in the harbor. Michael could feel the doctor’s breath against his cheek.
    “And over there,” continued Jon,