Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

finger to the president of Halcyon Communications.
    “Go fuck yourself,” she said.

Bruno Comes Through
    F IVE MINUTES AFTER MARY ANN STORMED OUT OF HIS office, Beauchamp used his private line to call Bruno Koski.
    “It’s me, Bruno.”
    “I know a lotta me’s.”
    “Yeah. Well … the one at Jackson Square. Look, I haven’t heard from you.”
    “The first move is yours, remember?”
    “O.K., O.K. You got the man?”
    “Yeah. I got the … person.”
    “Is he reliable, and discreet?”
    “Nah. He’s a fucked-up junkie, man. Don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. What the fuck you think, man? My ass is on the line more than yours is!”
    “Does he know about me? Does he know I’m the one who …?”
    “Look, numbnuts! If you don’t trust me, why don’t you get another patsy to do you—”
    “All right. O.K. When is he … available?”
    “I told ya. Soon as ya get me the money.”
    “How do I know you won’t—”
    “Ya don’t. Tough shit.”
    “O.K. Look. She’s going to a League fashion show tomorrow night—”
    “League?”
    Beauchamp sighed. “Junior League, Bruno. That doesn’t matter. It’s out at the Palace of the Legion of Honor. It starts around eight, so you can tell your man … well, you can figure out when it’ll be over. She’ll be driving her mother’s Mercedes, I’m sure. The license plate says FRANNI.”
    “Her old lady’s gonna be with her?”
    “Nope. She’s in Napa, I think. I’m sure she’ll be alone.”
    “I thought you two was separated.”
    “We are , Bruno.” Beauchamp’s patience was growing short.
    “Well, if you guys are separated, how the fuck do you know all this, anyway?”
    “I read it.”
    “You read it?”
    “In the social columns, Bruno.”
    “Oh.”
    “Don’t worry. She’ll be there. If there’s a photographer around, she’ll be there.” His tone became more businesslike. “How do you want the money?”
    “Tens and twenties.”
    “Just like the movies, huh?”
    “This ain’t no fuckin’ movie.”
    “You want to meet the same place we did before?”
    “Yeah. Eight o’clock. Tomorrow night.”
    “Isn’t that pushing it?”
    “You gimme the money. I’ll call the contact. Ain’t no big deal.”
    “You sure he knows how to …?”
    “It’ll happen. You gimme the money and it’ll happen.”
    “I don’t want her …”
    “I know.”
    “I won’t accept responsibility if she’s … if it’s permanent. I want to make that perfectly clear.”
    “Right. Gotcha. You’re a fuckin’ prince.”
    After an hour-long conference with the copywriter for Tidy-Teen Tampettes, Beauchamp paced his office for ten minutes, then telephoned an office at 450 Sutter.
    “Dr. Fielding’s office.”
    “Is he in?”
    “One moment, please.”
    A thirty-second wait, and then: “Yes?”
    “What’s up, Blondie?”
    Silence.
    “Well,” said Beauchamp, “I didn’t expect a trumpet fanfare, but after all this time … well, the least you could do is muster a cheery hello.”
    “Are you calling about your wife’s pregnancy?”
    “Actually, I thought you and I might get together and make a few babies. Just for old time’s sake, mind you.”
    “I’m going to hang up.”
    “Oh, come off it!”
    “I think I made it clear to you before that I don’t want you calling this office—or anywhere else, for that matter.”
    “Whatsamatter? You goin’ steady or something?”
    “You’re a slug, Beauchamp.”
    “I’ll bet you say that to all the boys.”
    The doctor hung up. Beauchamp sat at his desk for half a minute, spinning himself around in his chair. Then he got up, went to the refrigerator and made himself a Negroni, downing it in a single gulp.
    Life, sometimes, was a pain in the ass.

The Girl with Green Hair
    M ANUEL THE GARDENER WAS GRUMPY, SO DEDE didn’t have the nerve to ask him to clean the yucky things out of the swimming pool at Halcyon Hill. Instead, she sat on the terrace, munching M & M’s and reading the copy of Fear of Flying she had bought the previous summer.
    With mother in Napa and Beauchamp in the city and Daddy only a memory, she felt like an orphan princess in the great house. As usual, her loneliness drove her to the telephone.
    Only this time it wasn’t to call Binky, Muffy, Oona, BoBo or Shugie.
    “Hello,” said the honeyed voice on the other end.
    “Hi. It’s DeDe Day.”
    “Ape Woman!”
    DeDe laughed. “I promise never to drag you to something like that again!”
    “As I