Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

and I joined the Temple in Guyana in 1977. The twins were just babies, but I wanted them to grow up in a place without prejudice. Their father was Chinese. I suppose you know that.”
    Mary Ann nodded. The whole town knew it.
    “I don’t expect you to believe this, but I actually felt a sense of purpose in Jonestown that I had never felt before. For a while, anyway. On my third day there Jones held a catharsis session and made me stand up and explain …”
    “A catharsis session?”
    “That was his term. They were nights when he called us together and made us confess our sins. When I stood up, he said: ‘O.K., Miss Rich Bitch, what is it that you think you can do for the revolution?’ I knew I couldn’t lie to him, so I told him I had no skills, and he said: ‘You buy things, don’t you?’ So that’s what I ended up doing. I became a kind of procurement officer for Jonestown.”
    “What was your schedule like?”
    “Well, twice a week I took the Cudjoe, this little shrimp boat that belonged to the Temple. I caught it in Port Kaituma …”
    “I’m afraid I don’t know …”
    “The nearest village. On the Barima River. The airstrip is there. Where they killed the congressman.”
    Mary Ann nodded gravely.
    “It was six hours from Port Kaituma to Kumaka, where I did most of my shopping. I supervised the loading of the Cudjoe, foodstuffs mostly. That took about three hours, and we always headed back the same day. The captain was a man named William Duke, who didn’t work for the Temple but was … uh, sympathetic. He was a Communist, the PPP representative in Port Kaituma, and he liked me and adored the twins. Several days before … it happened, Captain Duke took me into his cabin and told me about the hundred-pound drum he had on the fantail. It was full of potassium cyanide.”
    Mary Ann winced. “Jesus.”
    “Thank God for that little guy,” said DeDe. “Thank God for that crummy job. I never would’ve known otherwise.” A hunted look came into her eyes.
    “Well,” said Mary Ann, trying to help, “it’s over now. You’re home and you’re safe.”
    DeDe finished off the last of the wine, then set the bottle down with a frown that suggested anything but safe at home. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I need some more of this before we continue.”

Meanwhile …
    J ENNIFER RABINOWITZ SAT UP IN BED AND PUT HER BRA back on. “Was that great weed or what?”
    “Mmm.”
    “My friend Scooter gets it directly from Jamaica. He says Bob Marley used to smoke the stuff. It’s like … official reggae grass or something.”
    “Rastafarian grass.”
    “Right. That’s the word. I think I could get into that, couldn’t you?” She was on her hands and knees now, feeling under the covers for her pantyhose.
    “What? The religion?”
    “Yeah. I mean, it’s a pretty terrific religion. They smoke enormous joints and dance their asses off and support equal opportunity and all that.”
    “They also think Haile Selassie was God. Is God.”
    “Yeah. I know. I’d have a problem with that, I guess.” She considered the issue as she wriggled into her pantyhose. “Still … it might be worth it for the grass. Do you see my skirt on your side?”
    He shook his head slowly. “The other room.”
    “Riiight. I am such a space case.” She bounded out of bed, stopping suddenly when she reached the door. “Look,” she said earnestly, cocking her head, “if it looks like I’m tossing you out, I guess I am. I’ve got Dancercise at four, and this wasn’t exactly an official date.”
    “No problem,” he said.
    “You’re a great guy. I’ve had a swell time.” She was hopping on one foot now, pulling on a pump. “And I know how whory this looks, believe me.”
    He laughed. “I’ve had a great time, too.”
    “Can I drop you off somewhere?”
    “No thanks. I live in the neighborhood.”
    “What’s your last name, by the way?”
    “Smith.”
    “John Smith. For real?”
    He nodded rather dolefully. “I’m afraid so.”
    “That’s a riot. We should check into a hotel sometime.”
    He let her joke slide by. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again at the Balboa.”
    “Sure,” she said cheerfully. “Maybe so. It’s been great. Really. I was feeling kind of bummed out when you met me.”

The Saga Continues
    A ROBIN WAS TRILLING IN A TREETOP AT HALCYON Hill—an odd accompaniment, indeed, for a story as grisly as this one.
    “Wait a minute,” said Mary Ann. “How could you be sure