Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

doorway. The old woman glowered, shook her head at Mona, and addressed Mrs. Madrigal.
    “She ain’t got the manners God gave a mule!”
    Mrs. Madrigal smiled evenly, holding out her hand to Mother Mucca. “I’m so glad you came.”
    The madam took her hand and grunted. “It was her idea.”
    “Well, then I should thank you, Mona. It’s good to see you both.”
    “I can’t stay long,” said Mother Mucca.
    “I know,” said the landlady, taking Mona’s arm. “We’ll have a little sherry and a nice chat.” Her eyes linked only briefly with Mother Mucca. It was the same cordial, but distant, expression Mrs. Madrigal used on Jehovah’s Witnesses.
    The hostess ducked into the kitchen, leaving Mona and her grandmother in the living room. Mother Mucca was rouged granite, sullen and unreadable.
    “Well,” said Mona, “isn’t she nice?”
    “It ain’t natural.”
    “I thought we’d gotten past that.”
    “Speak for yourself. That’s my son out there.”
    “Well, she’s my father!”
    “That’s different.”
    “Oh, please!”
    “I raised that child, girl! That’s my own flesh and blood!”
    “You raised her in a goddamn whorehouse! What did you expect, anyway? John Wayne?”
    “I’m gonna slap you right—”
    The old woman stiffened again as Mrs. Madrigal reentered the room. She was carrying a tray containing three glasses of sherry and a bowl of chocolate-covered cherries.
    “I thought I had some butter cookies, but I think Brian or one of the other children may have polished them off.”
    Mother Mucca frowned. “You got children?”
    “He’s a tenant,” snapped Mona.
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Madrigal calmly. “I call them my children. It’s a little silly, I suppose, but they don’t seem to mind.” She smiled at Mona. “At least, if they do, they don’t tell me.”
    Mother Mucca reached for a chocolate and popped it into her mouth. She wouldn’t look at her hostess. Mona sensed that disaster was imminent.
    “So,” said Mrs. Madrigal, curling her legs up under her on the sofa, “you’ve had lots of adventures, I suppose?”
    Mona nodded. “Winnemucca’s a trip.”
    “I can imagine.” The landlady turned to Mother Mucca, who had just finished sucking the chocolate off her teeth. “I hope this young lady didn’t get in the way.”
    The old woman snorted, forgoing comment by swilling her glass of sherry in one motion. Mrs. Madrigal held her ground, keeping her eyes on Mother Mucca. “Mona’s a lot like both of us, isn’t she?”
    Silence.
    “She’s got your looks, though,” added Mrs. Madrigal.
    Mother Mucca stared into her glass. “Ain’t no wonder,” she said finally.
    “What?”
    “You call that a hat?”
    “I don’t see what that—”
    “Damnation, girl! Ain’t ya got no hair?”
    “Of course I’ve got—”
    “Well, why the hell do ya keep it all crammed up under that bonnet like you was bald or something? Look, girl … you and me gotta talk!”
    “I assumed that was the purpose of this little—”
    “Where’s your bedroom?”
    “What does that have to do—”
    “Where’s your goddamn bedroom?”
    The two women had been gone for at least ten minutes. Mona sat terror-stricken in the living room, listening to their muffled voices. Then she heard Mrs. Madrigal say, “Mama, Mama,” and begin to cry.
    She waited until the sound died down again, then moved quietly to the bedroom door and opened it. Mrs. Madrigal was seated at her vanity. Her back was to the door. Mother Mucca was standing beside her, brushing her daughter’s shoulder-length hair. She looked up and saw Mona.
    “Git,” she said softly.

Table for Five
    A S THE PACIFIC PRINCESS PULLED OUT OF ACAPULCO , Michael’s eyes stayed glued on the ever-diminishing figure on the dock. “Look at him,” he said. “That asshole would look gorgeous in an aerial photograph!”
    Mary Ann slipped her arm around his waist. “Didn’t I tell you things would work out?”
    “Yeah. I guess you did.”
    “When’s he flying back to San Francisco?”
    “Friday. I’m meeting him at the airport.”
    “He’s awfully nice, Mouse.”
    “I know. It scares the hell out of me.”
    “Why?”
    “Don’t make me analyze it. When I analyze things they … stop happening.” He turned and looked in her eyes. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”
    She nodded grimly. “God, yes.”
    “It seems like every time I start up with somebody new … I don’t know … I see the beginning and the end all at