Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

you ended up with a vegetable!”
    “Just shut up, will you?”
    “I thought that was pretty good.”
    “Well, don’t think, then.”
    “Hold my hand, will you?”
    Jon took his hand. “That better?”
    “It’s tingling.”
    “Your hand?”
    “Uh huh. Act Two, right?”
    Silence.
    “I don’t wanna die, Jon.”
    “Michael, shut up!”
    “I’m sorry. That was terribly Jane Wyman of me.”
    “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m gonna be with you the whole time.”
    “You won’t let me get zits, will you? I’m twenty six years old … I don’t need zits.”
    “Such vanity.”
    “I love you, Dr. Fielding.”
    The answer was a squeeze of his hand.

The Last Straw
    M ARY ANN’S ANXIETY OVER MICHAEL SEVERELY hampered her efficiency at Halcyon Communications. Beauchamp Day found three typos in his letter to the chairman of the board of Adorable Pantyhose.
    “Mary Ann, for God’s sake!”
    “What?”
    “Look at this shit! I know the Old Man didn’t put up with this kind of sloppiness! Christ! I could do better with a Kelly Girl!”
    “I’m sorry. I … Beauchamp, I can’t seem to concentrate on—” She spun her chair away from him, buried her face in her hands and began to sob.
    Beauchamp watched her, unflinching. “Cheap shot, Mary Ann. Cheap shot.”
    Her sobs grew louder. “I’m not … Oh, God, I …”
    “All right. Do your little Gidget number or whatever. I’ll get Mildred’s secretary to retype it.”
    She straightened up. “No. I’ll do it.”
    “You aren’t being very professional, you know that?”
    “I’m sorry. I have a friend who’s sick. He … may die.”
    “A boyfriend?”
    “No. I mean, he’s a good friend.” She had decided earlier not to tell Beauchamp about Michael in the faint hope that Michael would recover in time to take over the mailboy job.
    Beauchamp studied her for several seconds, then said, “I’m sorry about that, but you’ll just have to cope with it, Mary Ann. I can’t afford to give you any time off right now.”
    “I didn’t ask for that.”
    “You were crying. I’ve seen that routine before.”
    “It’s not a routine.”
    He shrugged blithely. “Whatever. I’ve seen you do it before, that’s all.”
    “Gimme the letter.”
    “Look, I said I was sorry about your friend. You don’t need to get sullen with me.”
    “Gimme the letter, goddammit!”
    Beauchamp glared at her murderously, then held out the letter and dropped it, allowing it to float to her desktop. Mary Ann looked at the letter, then back to Beauchamp again. She picked up the letter and crumpled it into a ball.
    Beauchamp shook his head and smiled. “You’re pushing it, girl.”
    “No. You are.”
    “Tsk tsk. Is that right?”
    “Leave me alone.”
    Beauchamp folded his arms, staying put. “You think you’re a fucking fixture around here, don’t you? You think I won’t shitcan you because you worked for the Old Man. Or better yet, because I screwed you a couple of times!”
    Mary Ann pushed back her chair and stood up. “Actually, I think about you as little as possible.”
    “Oh, that’s clever! Farrah Fawcett-Dumbshit made a funny! Yuck yuck!”
    Mary Ann looked him in the eye. “Get out of my way.”
    Beauchamp didn’t budge. “God, you’re a laugh!”
    “I’m leaving.”
    “You’re goddamn right you’re leaving! Jesus H. Christ! How long did you really think I could stomach you and your cutesy-pie Snoopy cartoons on the filing cabinets? And that precious goddam bug-eyed frog planter with the—”
    “Decorate it yourself, then. Maybe one of your chic closet-case friends can help out.”
    Beauchamp’s eyes were ice blue. “You’re as common as they come.”
    “Maybe.”
    “ Maybe? Hah! Why the hell do you think you’re a secretary, sweetie pie? You’re a dumb little bourgeois bitch! Christ, look at you! You’re the same bland little thing you were at fifteen, and you’ll stay that way until somebody gives you a set of Tupperware for twenty years of faithful service—only it won’t be me, thank God!”
    She stared at him, blinking back the tears. “I’ve never met anyone as … horrible …” She pushed past him and headed for the door.
    “By the way,” Beauchamp added, “If you plan to keep pushing paper, you might as well forget about the other agencies. There won’t be any glowing references from Halcyon.”
    Mary Ann stopped in the doorway, composed herself as much as possible, then turned and raised her middle