Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

got to get a photographer now! Those fuchsias are the most wonderful …” Her gushing stopped when she saw the man shambling into the room behind Ned.
    Brian took it from there. “Mary Ann, this is _____ ______”
    “Yes,” she said, “I see.”
    “He and Ned are staying for the wedding.” Brian winked at his bride-to-be. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Back in Her Own Backyard
    F RANNIE HALCYON WAS HELPING HERSELF TO MORE cinnamon toast when her daughter joined her for breakfast on the terrace at Halcyon Hill.
    “How was the wedding, darling? Did everything go off all right?”
    DeDe sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Very sweet,” she said. “In some ways, a lot like mine. The minister even read from Gibran.”
    The matriarch’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, dear. Are they still doing that?”
    DeDe smiled. “_______ ______ was there, by the way.”
    “Really? What on earth for?”
    “He’s a friend of the family,” smiled DeDe.
    “Oh.”
    “And Mary Ann sent you a piece of the wedding cake … along with her love.”
    “Bless her heart,” said Frannie. “She’s had a dreadful time of it, hasn’t she? All that frantic dashing about with you … and then her fiancé is mistaken for a homosexual.”
    DeDe scowled at her. “That is hardly the point, Mother.”
    “Well,” said Frannie merrily, “all’s well that ends well, I always say. One look at my grandchildren is proof enough of that.”
    “Are they up yet?” asked DeDe.
    Frannie pointed to the edge of the garden. “They’re out there keeping Emma company.” She smiled benevolently at the distant figures, then turned to her daughter with a sigh. “You know … I feel awfully silly about all that.”
    “All what?” asked DeDe, buttering a piece of toast.
    “Well … not checking to see if Mr. Starr had come back to the ship. We maligned him dreadfully … when you come to think of it. We assumed the very worst about him.”
    DeDe took a bite out of the toast. “That was a perfectly natural reaction.”
    “I know. Just the same, I wish I could write him a thank-you note. Do you think he left a forwarding address with Prue?”
    DeDe shook her head and continued to eat.
    “He must think us awfully stupid,” added Frannie. “I mean … leaving the children like that. Think how it must have looked to him.”
    “I wouldn’t worry about it,” said DeDe.
    “He was always such a gentleman,” said Frannie, closing the subject once and for all. She turned her gaze to the garden again, then shook her head in admiration. “Emma’s such a marvel, isn’t she? Just look at her out there! She’s absolutely obsessed with that new azalea bed of hers.”
    “Uh-huh,” said DeDe.
    “You can’t help admiring her,” said Frannie. “Starting a new hobby at her age.”
    DeDe nodded. “She loves this family very much.”
    “I don’t care what they say,” declared the matriarch. “You can’t get help like that anymore.”
When the phone rang, DeDe took it in the kitchen.
    “Halcyon Hill.”
    “Uh … Emma?”
    “No. This is DeDe.” At last, she could say that.
    “I thought so! Thank God!”
    “Who is this?”
    “Who else? The Red Menace.”
    “D’or! Where are you? You sound different.”
    “It must be the ambience. I’m in Miami.”
    “What?”
    “At the Fontainebleau, no less. When I sell out, I don’t fuck around!”
    DeDe laughed. “I’ve missed you so much.”
    “Yeah? Wanna see me?”
    “Are you kidding? How soon can you get here?”
    “Gimme a day or so. Listen, hon … what about your mother?”
    “I’ll take care of that,” said DeDe.
    Five minutes later, she hung up the phone and went out to take care of it.

Six Weeks Later …
    M ARY ANN AND BRIAN CHOSE GOLDEN GATE PARK AS the site of their unofficial “honeymoon”—a lavish picnic lunch that marked their first venture into the outdoors since the knife attack. At the last minute, they asked Michael to join them.
    “You know,” said Mary Ann, smearing Brie on a chunk of sourdough bread, “there’s only one thing missing today.”
    “What’s that?” asked Michael.
    Mary Ann smiled and handed him the morsel. “Jon,” she said.
    Michael popped the bread into his mouth and turned to Brian. “Will you please tell the Little Woman to lay off for a while? She’s determined to make us Lucy & Ricky & Fred & Ethel.”
    Brian grinned. “Does that make me Fred or Ricky?”
    “Don’t press your luck,” said Michael. “You might be