Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

away, D’or.”
    “Maybe not. But you could run toward, something.”
    “Like what?”
    D’orothea shrugged. “A new life. A life where you don’t have to deal with the kind of people you’re dealing with.”
    “I think it’s a little late for me.”
    D’orothea shook her head. “Wrong, hon. It wasn’t too late for me.”
    “I don’t get it.”
    D’orothea smiled understandingly. “We’re not that far apart, you know. I may be from the wrong part of Oakland, but I got very grand very early. I was worshiping false idols before I was out of a training bra. Hell, I was worse than you, hon. With me, it was a conscious choice. With you, it’s just a question of family tradition.”
    “Never underestimate the power of family tradition,” said DeDe ruefully.
    “Or the power of the Almighty Dollar. Listen, I wanted money so bad I dyed my skin black to get it.”
    “What?”
    “It’s a long and sordid story. I’ll tell it to you someday when you … DeDe, look: do you remember that night we went to the fashion show at the Legion of Honor, when you said it was tough living at the end of the rainbow?”
    “Sure.”
    “Well, maybe your premise was wrong.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Maybe this isn’t it, hon. Maybe San Francisco isn’t the end of the rainbow.”
    DeDe absorbed this radical suggestion slowly. “D’or, do you mean leave?”
    “Why not?”
    “I can’t, D’or. My family is here. My mother, at least. And all my friends are here.”
    “What good have they done you so far?”
    DeDe studied her friend’s face for a moment. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to convert a sinner.”
    D’orothea laughed. “I have been going to church a lot lately. And that’s part of it, I guess. We don’t get that much time on this planet, DeDe, and unless a few of us make an effort to change ourselves and the corruption around us … well, it just won’t happen, that’s all.”
    “I see that, D’or. I agree with it, but I don’t see how running away can—”
    “Not away, hon. To. To something.” “What are you driving at?”
    D’orothea smiled. “I guess I should come right out and say it, huh?”
    It took her fifteen minutes to outline her proposal. When she had finished, DeDe stared at her with a mixture of doubt and fascination.
    “You mean I could take the babies?” she asked.
    “Of course! That’s the really wonderful part of it. A brand-new life for them, free from the bigotry and small-mindedness of your mother’s friends! A brand-new life for all of us, DeDe!”
    DeDe flushed excitedly. “In a crazy way, it makes a lot of sense.”
    “Damn straight!”
    “Mother will have a fit.”
    “No she won’t. Well, maybe at first. But in the long run, this saves her from all that embarrassment. You can get the hell out of town before the Hillsborough crowd has a chance to prey on your children. Your mother will be grateful for that, DeDe.”
    “I have to think about it,” said DeDe.
    “I know. Of course. There’s time.”
    “It is exciting!”
    “You betcha!” said D’orothea.

The Cooler
    B URKE’S HANDS WERE TREMBLING WHEN HE SLIPPED the key into the slot on the control panel of the elevator. Mary Ann hovered over him. “Burke, jiggle it or something.
    “I did. That’s it.” The key was only halfway in.
    “Try it the other way, then.”
    Burke removed the key and inserted it again. This time, it slid in effortlessly. Mary Ann let out a little yelp. Burke turned and beamed at her admiringly. “We can turn it to 2 or 3 now. What’ll it be?”
    Without knowing why, Mary Ann chose 3.
    Burke pushed the 3 button and the elevator began its slow ascent.
    Mary Ann’s exhilaration gave way to gnawing fear again. “What if he’s up here, Burke? The transplant man.”
    “We’ll play dumb,” shrugged Burke.
    “Yeah. And we don’t know for sure that he even took the elevator.”
    “He took it.” His grim certainty terrified Mary Ann.
    “But why would someone who just sings in the choir have a key to this elevator?”
    “Obviously,” said Burke flatly, “the same reason I had one.”
    The elevator shook them when it stopped. The door opened. They stepped out into a space about the size of Mary Ann’s living room. There were no windows. A flickering fluorescent tube mounted on the wall next to the elevator cast a greenish light on the stacks of hymnals and prayerbooks lining the room.
    The only way out was a cast-iron spiral staircase.
    Going up.
    Mary