Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

twice is courtship. You learn these nifty little nuances when you’re married. That’s why I’m not married anymore.”
    “But you could be, huh?”
    Michael shook his head. “Not now. Not for a while. I don’t know … maybe never. It’s a knack, isn’t it? Some of us just don’t have the knack.”
    “You gotta want it bad,” said Ned.
    “Then, maybe I don’t want it bad enough. That’s a possibility. That’s a distinct possibility.” Michael took a sip of the mineral water, then drummed his fingers on the bar in time to the music. The band had stopped playing now; someone at the jukebox had paid Hank Williams Jr. to sing “Women I Never Had.”
    Michael handed the Calistoga back to Ned. “Remember Mona?” he asked.
    Ned nodded. “Your old roommate.”
    “Yeah. Well, Mona used to say that she could get by just fine without a lover as long as she had five good friends. That about sums it up for me right now.”
    “I hope I’m one of ’em,” said Ned.
    Michael’s brow wrinkled while he counted hastily on his fingers. “Jesus,” he said at last. “I think you’re three of them.”

House of Wax
    P RUE GIROUX AND VICTORIA LYNCH WERE KINDRED spirits.
    For one thing, they were both handsome women. For another, Victoria was engaged to the ex-husband of the woman who was engaged to Prue’s ex-husband. Bonds like that were not easily broken.
    Today, Victoria had called to share a secret with her spiritual sister.
    “Now listen, Prudy Sue, this is cross-your-heart stuff, definitely not for publication, understand?” (Prue’s closest friends always addressed her by her childhood name.) “Of course,” said Prue.
    “I mean, eventually of course I would adore for you to give it a little publicity in your column, which is part of the reason I called, but right now it’s just in the embryonic stage, and we don’t want to kill the baby, do we?”
    “Of course not,” said Prue.
    “Well,” announced Victoria, sucking in breath as if she were about to blow a trumpet fanfare, “yours truly is in the process of organizing the world’s first society wax museum!”
    “The … come again?”
    “Now, shut up a sec, Prudy Sue, and hear me out. I met this absolutely divine little man at the Keatings’ house in Santa Barbara, and it seems he’s fallen on rather hard times lately, which is too tragic, because it turns out he’s descended from the Hapsburgs or something. I mean, he’s got the prominent lower lip and everything. Anyway, Vita told me he used to work at Madame Tussaud’s, where he was their principal designer …”
    “Ah, yes. I have one of his gowns.”
    A pause, and then: “You do not have one of his gowns, Prudy Sue.”
    “But that mauve cocktail dress I wore to …”
    “That’s a Madame Gres, Prudy Sue. You do not own a Madame Tussaud. Madame Tussaud’s is a wax museum in London.”
    “I knew that,” sulked Prue. “I thought you said …”
    “Of course you did, darling. Those French names all sound alike, don’t they? Now … where was I?”
    “He used to work at Madame Tufo’s.”
    “Uh … right. He worked … there, and he’s terribly aristocratic and all, and he thinks that it’s just a damn shame there’s never been a wax museum for society figures. Think about that, Prudy Sue! We have wax museums for historical people and show business people and sports people, but nary a thing for the movers and shakers of society. It’s shocking really, when you stop and think about it.”
    “That’s a good point,” said Prue. “I never really …”
    “And if we don’t take the initiative on this, who will? I mean, that’s what this little man said to me, and I was absolutely floored by his insight. Our children can see for themselves how short Napoleon really was, for instance, but where can they go to look at a replica of, say, Nan Kempner. Or Sao Schlumberger. Or Marie Hélène de Rothschild. These people are legends, Prudy Sue, but they’ll be lost to posterity forever, if we don’t take decisive action now. At least, that’s what Wolfgang says, and I think he’s dead right.”
    “Wolfgang?”
    “The little man. He’s such a dear, really. The wax figures usually run about fifteen thousand apiece, but he’s offered to do them for ten as a sort of a public service. He wants me to scout locations for the museum, which is a damn good thing, since he was leaning towards Santa Barbara when I talked to him, but I think I convinced him to move it here.