Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

divine young gynecologist, and I’m a little tired of playing doting grandmother before the fact.”
    Helena chuckled. “You won’t have to worry about that at Pinus. Most of us are grandmothers, but you’re shot at dawn if you talk about it.”
    They rode in silence for several minutes. It was almost as if Helena knew instinctively not to disrupt the fantasies that had begun to take shape in Frannie’s mind.
    “Well,” said Helena finally, “it’s almost time to go like sixty!”
    “I’m not sure if this road is safe enough to—”
    Helena smiled. “I meant your birthday.”
    “Oh, yes.” Frannie looked at her watch. “In only one day, four hours, twenty-three minutes and thirteen wonderful little seconds.”
    “You’re a new woman already!”
    “I can hardly believe it. Do you realize that a month ago I was seriously considering face-lifts and rejuvenation shots!”
    “Oh, Frrrannie … no! You must have known that Pinus was just around the corner.”
    Frannie thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I actually believed in it. I’d heard stories, of course, but that was all hearsay. Oh, Helena … I feel so privileged!”
    The Pinus hostess beamed proudly. “We ar e all privileged, Frannie.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, she pointed to the glove compartment. “Open it, darling.”
    “Why?”
    “Go on, open it.”
    Frannie did as she was told. “And …”
    “The little silver pillbox.”
    “This?”
    “Mmmm. Now … there’s a thermos on the back seat. Pour yourself a nice cup of apple juice and take a vitamin Q tablet.”
    “Vitamin Q?”
    “Don’t ask questions. It’s good for what ails you. You’re in our hands now, Frannie.” Her smile was warm but authoritative.
    The initiate removed a tablet and studied its inscription. It said: Rorer 714.
    “Down the hatch,” said Helena.
    And down it went.
    Driving through Glen Ellen, Helena motioned toward a sign marking the mental hospital. “If Pinus gets too much for you,” she smiled, “we can shift you with no problem at all.”
    Frannie giggled, feeling sort of comfy-groggy. “This is such a sleepy little town. I used to think this was all there was to it.”
    “You’d never guess, would you?”
    “Is it near here?”
    “The turnoff’s just up the road. You’ll see.” Helena sucked on her cigaret, then winked. “We haven’t blindfolded initiates since the early forties.”
    Frannie grew reflective. “There’s something about all this that reminds me of Edgar.”
    “We’re all widows, Frannie. The past is behind us.”
    “I didn’t mean it … sentimentally. Edgar was so damned mysterious about his two weeks at the Bohemian Grove. All that hocus-pocus about owls and goblins and muses in the forest. He used it, Helena. He used it to keep me at arm’s length.”
    Helena sniffed. “Compared to Pinus, darling, the Bohemian Grove is a Boy Scout jamboree.”
    After leaving the highway, they bumped down a dirt road for several miles, passing the grove of towering pines that presumably gave the resort its name. When the Mercedes rounded the last bend, Frannie drew in her breath and clutched the dashboard.
    “My God, Helena!”
    “Yes,” beamed the hostess. “Isn’t it grand?”
    Before them, marking the entrance, loomed a sixty-foot fieldstone tower, rounded at the top. As they passed it, Frannie peered out the window at the discreet brass plaque affixed at eye level.
PINUS
Established August 23, 1912
Too Much of a Good Thing is Wonderful

Mona’s Law
    J ON HAD NO TROUBLE SPOTTING MICHAEL IN THE CROWD AT the American Airlines terminal. He was wearing Levi’s, a clean white T-shirt, and a black and silver satin Jefferson Starship baseball jacket.
    And roller skates.
    The doctor brushed past him, striding toward the baggage claim area in his blue Brioni blazer. “I don’t know you,” he muttered.
    “Aw, c’mon, big boy … you remember. We bumped into each other at the roller rink in South City. Nineteen forty-eight I believe it was.”
    “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
    “How was your flight?”
    “Michael, that gray-haired man over there is the most distinguished gynecologist on the West Coast.”
    The skater slowed down and shifted his gaze. “He has dandruff,” he said.
    “He knows me,” said Jon.
    “I would never hire a gynecologist with dandruff.”
    “Would you at least slow down?”
    “Why? You wanna smooch?”
    “I’ll punch you out. So help me.”
    “I love it when you’re