Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

shines,/Upon the Mountain of the Flood/At the Meeting of the Lines.’ ”
    Jon grinned. “Maybe they snort coke at the PU Club.”
    “That’s what Burke thinks it means,” said Mary Ann.
    Michael demurred. “They just snort, period, at the PU Club.”
    “Wait!” exclaimed Jon. “What about the cable cars?”
    “What about them?” asked Mary Ann.
    “The cable car lines. They cross at California and Powell, just a block away from the PU Club!”
    Mary Ann and Michael yelped in unison. “That’s brilliant,” blurted Michael. “That’s positively brilliant!” Mary Ann beamed in agreement. “That must be it.”
    Jon bowed grandly. “Now all we have to do is figure out what any of this has to do with a florist from St. Sebastian’s Hospital, right?”
    Mary Ann nodded, deep in thought. “And what any of this has to do with transubstantiation.”
    Michael did a double take. “Come again, ma’am?”
    “Have you got a dictionary?”
    “On the shelf by the door,” said Michael. “Next to The Persian Boy .”
    Mary Ann found the dictionary and began to thumb through it. “I went down to the AP today. Where Burke used to work. A man there told me he ran into Burke about five months ago, and he said Burke told him he was working on … Here it is. Transubstantiation.” She handed the book to Jon.
    The doctor read aloud. “ ‘The changing of one substance into another.’ ”
    “Read the second definition,” said Mary Ann.
    “‘In the mass of the Roman Catholic Church, the conversion of the whole substance of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, only the external appearance of bread and wine remaining.’ So what does that have to do with Burke?”
    “This guy at the AP says he was working on a really bizarre story connected with transubstantiation.”
    Michael frowned quizzically. “Have you tried this out on Burke yet?”
    Mary Ann shook her head soberly. “I think he’s beginning to resent my curiosity, Mouse. I’m not sure what that means, but I’m trying to be discreet about all this, until I’ve got something solid to go on.”
    “Do you know what I think?” said Jon.
    “What?” asked Mary Ann.
    “I think you’ve got too many clues.”
    Mary Ann sighed. “I think you’re right.”

Betty
    T HE FIRST THING MONA NOTICED ABOUT BETTY RAMSEY was her clothes. She was decked out in kelly green and white, the recognizable racing colors of women realtors everywhere.
    And Mona’s clothing was the first thing Betty noticed.
    “Where did you get that frock? Goodwill?”
    Mona’s smile was smug. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
    “Well, it’s grossly unflattering.”
    “Thank you.”
    “The hippie thing is over, Mona. The pendulum is swinging.”
    Mona ignored her, heading for the window.
    “What are you doing?” asked Betty.
    “Checking out your view.” She turned and smiled at her mother. “The first thing every San Franciscan does when visiting somebody else’s apartment.” She parted the curtains and gazed down upon the nighttime splendor of the city. “Mmm. Very nice. Whose place is this, anyway?”
    Betty began dropping ice cubes into a glass. “Susan Patterson’s. Someone I knew years ago in Carmel. She’s in Switzerland for the spring.”
    Mona surveyed the room. “It looks like you’ve been here since last spring.” The floor was cluttered with Gump’s boxes and shopping bags from Saks; Betty’s yoga mat and an assortment of French body creams were visible through the bedroom door.
    Betty held up a gin bottle. “This or bourbon?”
    “Neither, thanks.”
    “I don’t have any Perrier.”
    “That’s fine. I took a Quaalude a little while ago.”
    “For God’s sake!”
    Mona sat down on the sofa. “Would you rather I’d taken one of your Valiums?”
    “A doctor prescribed those.”
    “Don’t they always.”
    “You shouldn’t have to rely on … Mona, let’s not argue. We haven’t seen each other for a long time, darling. The least we can do is—”
    “Why are you here, Betty?”
    Betty didn’t answer immediately. She finished fixing her gin-and-tonic, then joined her daughter on the sofa. “Why do you think?”
    Mona locked eyes with her mother. “I don’t think it has a damned thing to do with me.”
    “That’s not fair, Mona.”
    “It’s the truth.”
    Betty looked down at her drink. “You know about Andy, don’t you?”
    Mona made her face into a mask. “I know that he left you. That’s old