Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

might—”
    The reporter whistled. “It’s a friggin’ soap opera!”
    “Tell me .”
    “You want me to fill in the pieces, right?”
    She nodded. “Did he tell you anything about where he was going after the AP? Did he talk about his plans?”
    “Are you makin’ this up?”
    “No! Why in the world should I? Look, the bureau chief says you and Burke worked together a lot.”
    “Yeah. We worked nights together. But he never talked about personal stuff.”
    “When he was here did he ever do stories about cults?”
    Jack Lederer shook his head. “The freak beat is mine, sweetheart.” He grinned annoyingly. “You think the Moonies got him, huh?”
    She ignored it. “Do you think there’s any possibility he might have—”
    “When did this amnesia zap him, anyway?”
    “About three months ago the police found him in Golden Gate Park. He was passed out or something.”
    The reporter jerked open a desk drawer and removed a spiral notebook. “I think it must’ve been—no, earlier than that—right about …” He began to flip through the notebook. “I saw your boyfriend just briefly about five months ago at Lefty O’Doul’s one night. He told me he was free-lancing and that I could eat my heart out because he was onto something really bizarre.”
    Mary Ann’s mind raced wildly. “You mean he was still a reporter?”
    The AP man smirked. “A free-lancer. There’s a difference. They always talk crazy.” He looked down at the notebook again. “Yep. There it is. ‘Transubstantiation.’ ”
    “What? I’m afraid I don’t …”
    “Yeah. Well, neither did I. I asked your boyfriend if he had any substantiation for his so-called bizarre story and he laughed and said, ‘ Tran substantiation is more like it.’ So I asked him what the hell that was supposed to mean, and he polished off his drink and told me to look it up.”
    “And?”
    “He walked out of the joint.”
    “But what does it mean?”
    Jack Lederer stubbed out his More, then pointed to a dictionary on top of the “Mass Murders, Etc.” filing cabinet. “Look it up, sweetheart.”

Homecoming
    W ITH MICHAEL IN HIS ARMS, JON TOOK A DEEP breath and confronted the precipitous wooden stairway leading up to Barbary Lane. “Are you ready?” he asked.
    “Am I ready? You’re the one I’m worried about. What happened to our Sherpa guide, anyway?”
    “He died of exposure at eight thousand feet.”
    “Well, shit! You just can’t get good Sherpas anymore.”
    Jon staggered under his weight. “Don’t make me laugh. I’ll drop you.”
    “The hell you say. If I go, you’re going too.”
    Jon took long, steady strides up the steps. “I think we’d better pack in provisions. Something tells me we won’t be going out too often.” He stopped, panting, on the landing at the entrance to the lane.
    “For God’s sake,” Michael said melodramatically. “Whatever you do, don’t look down. Pretend you’re Karen Black in Airport. ” He smiled bravely up at Jon, crossing his eyes.
    “So help me, Michael, if you don’t …”
    “Sorry.”
    The doctor lumbered down the leafy walkway, cursing angrily when Boris, the resident cat, emerged from the shrubbery to rub his back ecstatically against Jon’s leg. “Aw,” said Michael. “A little pussy never hurt anyone.”
    Mona was waiting for them in the courtyard. “Can I run get your wheelchair or something?”
    Jon shook his head. “It’s easier to carry him.”
    “Across the threshold, please note.” Michael winked at Mona.
    “You could’ve at least thrown me the garter belt,” she said.
    “Since when did you wanna get married?”
    “A joke, Mouse.”
    Mrs. Madrigal scurried into the courtyard and held the door for them. “Welcome home, dear. It just hasn’t been the same.”
    Michael blew her a kiss. “This place never is, is it?”
    Jon fixed pot roast for dinner. Afterward, he moved Michael’s wheelchair to the window and pulled up a chair next to him.
    “I’ve missed that fish,” said Michael.
    “What fish?”
    “Down there. The neon one on the wharf. It’s always seemed kind of cheerful to me.”
    Jon lit a joint and handed it to Michael. “The fish was an early Christian symbol for hope. They carved it on the walls of the catacombs when they were hiding out.”
    “You don’t say?” Michael grinned and took a toke. “I could learn a lot from you.”
    Jon kept his eyes fixed on the bay. “I can stay, then?”
    Silence.
    “Well … say