Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

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    W HEN MARY ANN DESCENDED THE STAIRS TO THE basement, she found Bambi curled—no, coiled —on an ancient sofa Mrs. Madrigal had provided for her comfort.
    She looked up sullenly, a long shadow falling across her face.
    “You’re gonna pay for this,” she said ominously.
    “I suppose so,” said Mary Ann.
    “I’m not talking job, lady—I’m talking criminal action. Your ass is grass, Mary Ann.”
    It was creepy to see how much of Larry Kenan’s pig lingo Bambi could appropriate for her own use.
    Mary pulled up a chair. A safe distance away. “I thought we should … discuss things first.”
    “Tell it to the police,” snarled Bambi.
    “Do it yourself,” countered Mary Ann. “The door is open.”
    The anchorwoman cast a quick glance up the stairs.
    “You’re free to go,” said Mary Ann.
    Bambi’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is still a kidnapping, you know. Just because you’re turning me loose doesn’t mean …”
    “I know.”
    “And just because somebody else did it for you …”
    “I know that, too.” Mary Ann smiled sweetly. “So, haul ass, lady.” She jerked her head jauntily towards the stairs. “Give my love to Larry … while you’re at it. The poor jerk thinks you’re out on a hot story. I’d hate to be the one to disillusion him.”
    “You’re gonna hate it even more when … What did you tell him?”
    “Just that,” shrugged Mary Ann. “That you and I were out chasing the scoop of the year.”
    “DeDe Day?”
    Mary Ann nodded, smiling.
    “I Xeroxed those notes, you know.” Bambi’s sneer was almost obscene. “Stealing my purse was the stupidest thing you could’ve done. That story is still ours, Mary Ann. All it takes is a phone call to the station.”
    “What a coincidence,” said Mary Ann. “Those were my exact words to DeDe.”
    Silence.
    “We were talking about a different station, of course.”
    Bambi glared at her murderously. “You wouldn’t do that.”
    “Why not?” said Mary blithely. “My ass is grass, right? I’d get a much warmer reception at Channel 5. And let’s face it … there is no story without DeDe and the kids. Is there?”
    Silence.
    “That’s why I thought we should have a little discussion first. I wanted you to know what your options are … before you screw this up completely.” Another smile, more sugary than the first.
    “Go ahead,” muttered Bambi.
    “Well,” said Mary Ann, “you can press charges, like you said. That’ll simply force me to explain publicly why we felt a moral obligation to hold you here until DeDe was certain that her children were out of harm’s way. That won’t look very pretty, Bambi. It wasn’t your story in the first place. That’s easy enough to prove.”
    “A story is a story,” growled the newscaster.
    “Exactly,” said Mary Ann. “And I’m prepared to share this one with you.”
    Bambi gave her a long distrusting look. “You are?”
    “With you or Wendy Tokuda. Take your pick.” The coil tightened. “I wanna know what ‘harm’s way’ was.”
    Mary Ann blinked at her. “Huh?”
    “You said, ‘when the children were out of harm’s way.’ What possible threat could justify your locking me in a cellar for three days?”
    “The threat was you! The press! DeDe is my friend. She’s made some dumb mistakes, but she’s a good woman and I like her. She wanted time to breathe, that’s all. A month of serenity with her mother and children. Is that too much to ask for a woman who escaped from Guyana in a fish barrel?”
    “What about that double, then?”
    “What about him? She says an imposter was trained while she was still in Jonestown … but she left days before the massacre. It’s definitely worth mentioning. I’d count on being shot down, though.”
    “Why?”
    Mary Ann nailed her with a glance. “Do you think Jim Jones is still alive?”
    Bambi scowled and looked away. “So what do you want to do about this?”
    “All right: I want you to sign a paper certifying your willing tenancy at 28 Barbary Lane over the past few days …”
    “Just a second!”
    “I’m not finished. Since it’s obvious that you and I have been out interviewing DeDe for the past few days—got that—you couldn’t possibly have been locked in the basement of 28 Barbary Lane. This was simply your command post. I think that sounds pretty damn glamorous myself.”
    “What about air time?”
    “We’ll share that,” said Mary Ann. “I don’t care if you