Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

unavailably in the sunshine.
    But some straight men, thank God, took care of their bodies as well as gay men did.
    Besides, a cute butt was a cute butt, so what-the-hell?
    She almost jumped the curb looking at one.
She was sorry that Brian wasn’t with her. He had been such a sport about it when she told him of Mrs. Halcyon’s luncheon invitation. “Go ahead,” he had said. “She might do you some good. I’ll catch some rays in the courtyard. We’ll do a flick or something when you get back.”
    God, she did love him. He was so easy, so uncomplicated, so willing to understand, whatever the circumstances. They were friends now, she and Brian. Friends who had terrific sex together. If that wasn’t love, what was?
    By the time she hit the freeway, she was buzzing along merrily on one of Mrs. Madrigal’s Barbara Stanwyck joints. She turned on the radio and sang along as Terri Gibbs sang “Somebody’s Knockin’.”
    Once more, she couldn’t help wondering about this summons to Hillsborough. She knew that some society people liked to court celebrities, but surely her own limited fame was far removed from Frannie Halcyon’s league.
    Was she just being nice, then?
    Maybe.
    But why, after all these years? As a secretary, Mary Ann had worked for the Halcyon family for almost two years—first for Edgar Halcyon, the founder of Halcyon Communications; later, for Beauchamp Day, Mr. Halcyon’s slimy son-in-law.
    ***
    Today, however, was the first time she had ever laid eyes on the family estate.
    Halcyon Hill was a mammoth mock-Tudor mansion, probably built in the twenties, set back from the road in a grove of towering oaks. A black Mercedes, with a license plate reading FRANNI , was parked in the circular driveway.
    An old black woman, very thin, opened the door.
    “You must be Emma,” said the visitor. “I’m Mary Ann.”
    “Yes’m, I feel like I …” Before the maid could finish the sentence, Frannie Halcyon came scurrying into the foyer. “Mary Ann, I am delighted, just delighted you could come. Now, you brought your bathing suit, I hope?”
    “Uh … in the car. I wasn’t sure if …”
    “Emma, get it for her, will you?”
    “Really, I can …” Mary Ann abandoned the protest; the maid was already tottering towards the car.
    “Now,” said Mrs. Halcyon, “we’ll have a nice lunch on the terrace … I hope you like salmon?”
    “Yum,” replied Mary Ann.
    “And then we can chat.”
    “Fine.”
    The matriarch took her arm protectively. “You know, young lady, Edgar would be so proud of you.”

Dames
    H IGH ATOP BEVERLY HILLS, MICHAEL AND NED WERE lolling by______ ______’s pool, breakfasting on the eggs Benedict that Guido had brought them.
    “He’s O.K.,” Michael commented, after the houseman had left. “He had me sorta spooked last night.”
    Ned popped a triangle of toast into his mouth. “He didn’t know you last night. It’s his job to be careful. The National Enquirer tries to scale the wall here about once a week._______’s lucky to have Guido.”
    The three-legged mongrel named Ned hobbled up to Michael’s chaise lounge and presented his muzzle for scratching. Michael obliged him. “These old dogs,” he said. “You expect something sleek, like greyhounds or something. Or ferocious, maybe. It makes me feel so much better about him to know that he keeps these mangy mutts.”
    “That one’s fourteen,” said Ned. “We found him when he was a puppy, scrounging in a garbage can behind Tiny Naylor’s._____adores him. He got hit by a car about five years ago, so the leg had to go.” Ned smiled lovingly at his name-sake. “He’s the one who should write the book.”
    Guido appeared on the terrace with a tray of bullshots. “I thought you gentlemen could use a little refreshment before the twinkies invade.”
    “Thanks,” said Ned, taking a drink. “What twinkies?”
    Guido’s pupils ascended. “______called a little while ago, still in P.S. Won’t get here till two. Meanwhile, God help us, one of his buddies from West Hollywood decides to throw a little spur-of-the-moment Welcome Home. Here, thank you very much.”
    Michael looked at Ned, suddenly feeling anxious again. “Should we be getting dressed or something?”
    “Forget it,” Guido reassured him. “The last time this happened the party lasted two days. There were so many Speedos hung out to dry that the Danny Thomases called to ask why we were flying signal flags.”
    Guido’s forecast proved