Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

Ethel.”
    “When does Jon’s ship get back?” asked Mary Ann.
    “Tomorrow,” said Michael. “Pass the smoky cheddar, please.”
    Brian shoved the cheese board in Michael’s direction. “Remember when you and I were here last?”
    “Yeah?”
    “You told me to hurry up and marry Mary Ann.”
    “He did?” Mary Ann stopped spreading Brie and looked up. “That’s so sweet, Mouse.”
    “Well,” continued Brian, still talking to Michael, “I think it’s time you married Jon.”
    Michael lopped a strawberry into his mouth. “I’ve done that already.”
    “Then, remarry him.” This was Mary Ann, putting in her own two cents’ worth.
    Michael looked at them in succession. “You guys want everybody to be married.”
    “But, it would be so wonderful, Mouse. We could all plan trips to Yosemite together … and family things. You’ve been looking for two years, Mouse. Have you ever found anybody better than Jon?”
    Michael pretended to search for another strawberry.
    “Everybody but you can see that. Jon is your Christmas tree man.”
    “My what?”
    “You told me that, once. Before you met Jon. You said you didn’t expect that much from a relationship … just somebody nice to buy a Christmas tree with. That’s Jon, Mouse! He doesn’t even mind it when you sleep around.”
    “Oh?”
    Mary Ann nodded. “He told me so himself. He loves you.”
    “He sleeps around himself,” said Michael. “Why do you think he’s on that ship?”
    “Then you’re perfect for each other! Like me and Brian.”
    Brian gave his wife a funny look. She squeezed his leg to reassure him.
    “Are you meeting his ship?” she asked Michael.
    A long pause, and then: “Yeah.”
    Mary Ann smiled triumphantly, giving Brian’s knee a healthy shake. “You see … you see?”
    “See what?” asked Michael.
    “Nothing,” grinned Mary Ann.
    “You’re impossible,” grumped Michael. “What did you do with the Dijon?”
    But his smile betrayed him again.
    High on the ridge above them, Prue Giroux made her way carefully through the rhododendron dell, disregarding once again the admonitions of her priest.
    She had not set foot in Luke’s shack since her escape with the children.
    Something strangely akin to remorse engulfed her as she pushed open the door of the little house and perused its scattered contents.
    The walls had been horribly vandalized with spray paint. The foam rubber “sofa,” once the scene of her happiest moments, was littered with alien condoms.
    “Animals,” she muttered.
    Very little remained except the handmade plaque, now rudely splashed with crimson:
    THOSE WHO DO NOT
REMEMBER THE PAST
ARE CONDEMNED
TO REPEAT IT
    She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving that sentiment behind, so she removed the plaque from the wall and slipped it lovingly into her tote bag. Before the tears could come, she hurried out into the sunlight again and scaled the slope to the rhododendron dell.
    She was halfway across the dell when she spied a familiar figure emerging from one of the enormous bushes.
    “Oh … uh … Prue, darling.” It was Father Paddy, looking unusually flustered.
    Prue tried to sound breezy, hoping he hadn’t deduced the reason for her visit to the dell. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day, Father?”
    “Yes, indeed! God’s in his heaven, all right!”
    “Mmm.”
    “What are you … uh … doing in this neck of the woods?”
    “Just walking Vuitton,” said Prue.
    “Oh … well, it’s a lovely day for …” Before he could finish, another man emerged from the huge shrub. He greeted Prue by name, winked at Father Paddy, and sauntered off down the path, whistling contentedly.
    “I didn’t know you knew Officer Rivera,” said Prue.
    Father Paddy hesitated. “Actually … we just met.”
    “He’s so conscientious,” observed the columnist. “It’s nice to know that there are policemen like that.”
    “Yes,” said the cleric. “Yes, it is.” He took Prue’s arm suddenly. “I don’t know about you, darling, but I’m famished. How about a little lunch somewhere?”
    “I’d adore lunch,” said Prue. “Help me find Vuitton.”
    The priest scolded her with a glance. “You’ve lost him again?”
    “Of course not,” said Prue. “He’s around here somewhere. Vuiiiton! Here, boy! Vuiiiiiton! …”

Praise for
Further Tales of the City
    “In this third book of Tales, Maupin watches his
characters with a sharp eye and describes them with a
sharper tongue, but his bemused