Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

and a carton of pickled mushrooms. They picnicked in Washington Square, watching Chinese grandmothers perform martial arts exercises on the grass.
    Finally, Mona took the plunge. “I have something to tell you,” she said blandly.
    “Yes, dear?”
    “It’s kind of … sickroom.”
    Mrs. Madrigal smiled. “Go ahead.”
    “My mother’s coming to town.”
    Mrs. Madrigal’s smile faded.
    “The lovely Betty Ramsey,” explained Mona. “I believe you’ve met her.”
    “Mona … why?”
    “I don’t know exactly.” She reached out and took Mrs. Madrigal’s hand. “I’m sorry. Really. I begged her not to come. She said I owed it to her and told me I was making a terrible mistake. I did everything I could to stop her.”
    “Did you tell her about me, Mona?”
    “No! I swear!”
    “Well, what’s this ‘terrible mistake’ business?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me. I mean, is there anything I should know, besides your operation and all?”
    “I can’t imagine what …” Mrs. Madrigal’s voice faltered. She fussed distractedly with the loose wisps of hair that framed her angular face. “Mona, if she doesn’t know that you and I are together, I don’t see how I could possibly know anything that would be pertinent to her remark.”
    “But she does know. I mean, I think she knows. Oh, Christ—the moon is in ca-ca!”
    Mrs. Madrigal managed a chuckle. “So what do we do, daughter?”
    Mona smiled weakly. “Invite her to dinner?”
    “Oh, sickroom, sickroom!”
    Mona laughed. “Maybe I should talk to her first. If she doesn’t know about you, there’s no point in blowing our cover.”
    “Splendid idea.”
    But less and less splendid as the day wore on. That night, while Mona was visiting Michael at the hospital, Mrs. Madrigal broke one of her own rules of life by sitting in her room and agonizing over the future.
    She knew that was silly. If a confrontation with Betty was inevitable, what point was there in fretting over it? The important thing now was to direct all her energy toward Mona’s happiness.
    So she marched upstairs and had a little talk with Brian.
    He told her more than she had expected to hear.

Burke Explodes
    A LOW-HANGING SPRING FOG SLID UNDER THE bridge toward the city as Mary Ann filled her lungs with air and read the instructions for an isometric squat.
    “Ick. This one is the pits.”
    Burke grinned and placed his back firmly against an oak piling, easing himself down slowly. “This was your idea, remember.”
    She stuck out her tongue at him. He was right, of course. For weeks she’d been promoting this trip to the Marina Green exercise course, spurred on by a semi-flabby tummy and a sexy Apartment Life article about couples who work out together.
    Burke reveled in her agony. “It’s not too late to quit before you rupture something.”
    “Ha! Who beat who at the hop kick and the log hop?” She chose the piling facing Burke and lowered herself defiantly into position.
    Burke’s face was bright red as he held the squatting position. “That’s because you’re doing Intermediate stuff. I’m going for Championship.”
    “And you’ll poop out at the end. Don’t you know anything about endurance?”
    Burke completed his count of thirty, springing into an upright position again. “Healthy body, healthy mind!” he exclaimed.
    Mary Ann couldn’t manage a snappy comeback. They were both thinking the same thing.
    “Well,” shrugged Burke, “some of us can’t have both.”
    When they had finished their run, they strolled back to a bench on the edge of the bay. Mary Ann smiled into the wind, feeling the blood tingle in her limbs. She slipped her arm through Burke’s and leaned her head on his shoulder.
    “Do I smell as gross as you do?”
    He kissed her damp temple. “Every bit.”
    “Swell.”
    “We won’t shower when we get back. I wanna screw on the living room floor.”
    “Burke!”
    “I like musky women.” He kissed her again and began to sing a chorus of “I Remember You.”
    Mary Ann ignored the irony. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing. You have a gorgeous voice.”
    “I do, don’t I?” He continued singing.
    “Did you ever sing … like professionally?”
    He turned and looked at her, hesitating. “Not professionally. Only in church, back in Nantucket. The Good Shepherd choir. What are you up to, anyway?”
    Her tone was defensive. “Nothing. Can’t I be curious about you?”
    “That’s what my mother said on the phone