Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

I will … I will, Jon. I love you, Jon.” She hung up.
    Burke put his arm around her.
    “Thank God,” she said softly. “It wasn’t Michael, Burke. It was Beauchamp Day. Jon and Michael just heard it on the radio. Beauchamp’s car hit the side of the Broadway tunnel and blew up. They couldn’t get to him, Burke. He burned alive.”

Sixty at Last
    T HE DELECTABLE HERBAL SCENT OF VITABATH TINGLED in Frannie’s nose as she lay back in the huge marble tub and enjoyed the effects of vitamin Q.
    “Oooh, goodness! This thing is big enough for two.”
    Birdsong stopped massaging her feet. “Do you want me to come in, Mrs. Halcyon?”
    “Oh, no.” She giggled. “No, that wasn’t a hint, Birdsong.”
    “It’s no problem.”
    “No. I’m sure it isn’t … Birdsong?”
    “Yes, ma’am?”
    “How long have you worked at Pinus?”
    “About two years.”
    “Since you were how old?”
    “Uh … twenty.”
    “You like it here, then?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “All these old ladies. You like … waiting on them?”
    “I don’t think of them as old.”
    Frannie smiled forgivingly. “I know they tell you to say that, but surely … well, I mean, we’re all over sixty, aren’t we? A young man like you must feel a little … strange … you know.”
    “No, ma’am. I like mature women.”
    She grinned at him under heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re a diplomat, young man.”
    Birdsong winked and wiggled her big toe.
    “What’s your real name?” she asked.
    “We’re not allowed to tell that.”
    “You’re not, huh?”
    “No, ma’am.” “Are you going to rub my back?”
    “If you like.”
    “I like,” smiled Frannie, rolling over in the suds.
    The matriarch slept soundly until 6 P.M., when Helena Parrish rapped on her door. “The hour is nigh,” she said cheerily, peering into the cottage. She had changed from her street clothes into the dusty-pink kaftan of the resort. Her hair was down now, flowing triumphantly into a single reckless braid.
    Frannie rubbed her eyes and swung her feet off the bed. “I’m not especially nervous. Should I be?”
    “Darling … this is going to be the most extraordinary night of your life.”
    “Now I’m nervous.”
    “You’ll do fine.” “I’m beginning to feel like a silly old fool.”
    “Nonsense. You’ll be the youngest girl there.”
    Frannie giggled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
    “Don’t think, darling… feel . That’s the secret to Pinus. Let yourself feel.”
    “I’ll try.”
    “Good. Now … one more vitamin Q and we’ll be on our way.”
    The amphitheater took Frannie’s breath away. Against the darkening hillside a hundred women lounged in dusty-pink deck chairs, gazing languidly at the open-air stage before them.
    In the center of the stage, a bonfire was blazing, casting a mystical light on the giant golden P that dangled overhead. When Helena made her entrance, the audience began janing.
    “Aaaahhhhaaaahhhheeeeaaaahhhh!”
    The sound was thunderous, almost deafening. It sent little shivers down Frannie’s spine. She readjusted her kaftan and fidgeted with her hair, awaiting the signal from Helena.
    “Ladies,” boomed Helena, without a microphone, “we all know why we’re here tonight, so let’s get on with it. Without further ado, may I present to you … the newest recipient of the mysteries of Pinus … Frannie Halcyon!”
    This time the janing nearly shook the trees. Frannie walked onto the stage with her head held high, taking her place beside Helena at the bonfire. Then, simultaneously, the women rose to their feet and a gargantuan cake was wheeled onto the stage. The women janed again and broke into a jubilant chorus of “Happy Birthday.”
    The top of the cake exploded in a flurry of flesh and firelight.
    The naked figure that emerged sent gasps of delight and recognition through the audience. “Bluegrass,” squealed a woman near the stage. “She got Bluegrass!”
    Frannie looked up to see an enormous gold-haired man who looked for all the world like Joe Palooka. He smiled down at the Birthday Girl and leaped enthusiastically out of the cake.
    In a single effortless motion, he scooped Frannie into his arms and ran off with her into the forest.
    And the janing began again.

The Last of Beauchamp
    W HEN BRUNO FINALLY PHONED, DOUCHEBAG WAS livid.
    “Jesus Christ, man! You said eight o’clock!”
    “Yeah? Well, I lied. Go home, punk.”
    “Watcha mean, go home? I been freezin’ my ass off out here