Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

floor-length black mink. Finding it, she rushed back to the bed and began pulling it onto the matriarch’s arms.
    “C’mon now … c’mon, Miss Frannie … we gotta walk. Can you do that for Emma now? C’mon …” Facing her mistress, she slid her hands under the mink-sheathed arms and lifted with all her might.
    “Herpledarnover.”
    “Help me, Miss Frannie … you can do it. Stand on them feet for me….”
    For a moment, the matriarch seemed to be doing just that.
    “Good,” said Emma. “That’s real good. Now just start walkin’. It’s O.K. Emma’s got you.”
    Seconds later, Frannie toppled like a felled bear, pinning Emma painfully against the Chinese carpet. The maid somehow managed to dislodge herself, gasping for breath.
    “Miss Frannie,” she wept. “God help us both.” She stared at her mistress in despair before taking a pillow from the bed and sliding it under Frannie Halcyon’s head. The matriarch snorted noisily, rolled over and fell asleep.
    Emma went directly to the bathroom and removed the bottle of rum that her mistress kept hidden in the toilet tank. She took two burning swigs, then returned it to its hiding place.
    She had never done that before, but she knew what would soon be required of her.
The matriarch kept her pistol in the bottom drawer of the bedside table. It was a recent acquisition, Emma knew—purchased only days after Mrs. Reagan announced her own reliance on a “tiny little gun.”
    The maid lifted it gingerly by the butt and crept out of the room, closing the door behind her.
    Then she moved from room to room downstairs, turning off the lights as she went.
    She checked the lock on the front door.
    Then the one in the kitchen.
    Then the one on the sunporch.
    As she crossed the sunporch, heading for the living room, she heard a noise in the garden.
    She ducked behind a big wicker chair, peering over the edge long enough to see a man push his way through the shrubbery and cross the lawn.
    He stood in the middle of the lawn, assessing the house, looking from left to right.
    Emma made a dash for the kitchen, then let herself out into the garage. The garage door was still open, so she slipped into the darkness, ran across the front lawn, and crept through the arbor in the side yard until the intruder was once again in view.
    This time she was behind him.
    The man moved closer to the house.
    Then he tried to open the door to the sunporch.
    “You!” shouted Emma. “Jim Jones!”
    The intruder spun on his heels, locking eyes with the rail-thin old woman who stood on the lawn with a pistol in her hand. He raised his arms in a gesture of supplication and uttered his last word in a surprisingly placid tone of voice.
    “Sister,” he said.
    Then Emma shot him between the eyes.

Not Gay
    O NLY MINUTES AFTER JON LEFT MICHAEL’S APARTMENT, Brian showed up on the doorstep.
    “How’s the media widow?” asked Michael.
    “Rotten,” replied Brian. “You feel like a walk?”
    “Sure,” said Michael, “but only if misery loves company.”
    “Oh, no … what is it this time?”
    Michael rolled his eyes. “What is it every time?”
    “Uh … Jon?”
    “You win the cigar.”
    “I saw him upstairs,” said Brian. “Is he back for good?”
    Michael shook his head. “Just the wedding … as far as I know.”
    “Do you want him to stay?”
    Michael sighed wearily. “You aren’t, by any chance, a spy for Mrs. Madrigal?”
    “I just thought things might get complicated.”
    “More complicated?”
    “I mean … with Bambi and all.”
    “Oh God,” said Michael, suddenly remembering. “Things have already gotten more complicated. You haven’t heard the latest!”
As they walked to the Marina Green, Michael told Brian about Jon’s sighting of the “kidnapped” twins.
    “Does Mary Ann know this?” asked Brian.
    Michael nodded. “She called while you were at work. She’s coming home in the morning, by the way.”
    “Thank God. What the hell are we gonna do about Bambi.”
    “You got me. Jon says she’s already had a knock-down-drag-out fight with Mrs. Madrigal.”
    “When?”
    “Tonight.”
    “Christ.” Brian shook his head. “That place is a madhouse.”
    Michael smiled. “Jon said the same thing.” A period of silence followed. Then Brian said: “Is he here to get you back?”
    “Yeah,” said Michael. “I guess he is.”
    “Is that what you want?”
    Michael turned and looked at his friend. “Can I pass on that one right now?”
    Brian laid