Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

she’s come. Someone who would have loved her if she had never left Grass Valley at all.”
    “Luke, I appreciate your …”
    “You don’t appreciate a damn thing yet, but you will. I’ll teach you to love God again, to love yourself as God made you, to love the little girl who’s deep down inside of you, aching to cast off those stupid, goddamn Alice-in-Wonderland clothes and tell the world what’s really in her heart. Look at me, Prue. Don’t you see it? Don’t you see it in my eyes?”
    When she finally looked at him, all she felt was an uncanny familiarity, as if she had known this man all her life—or in a past life. She knew these features: the extraordinary cheekbones, the amber skin, the full lips, the strong hands that now cradled one of hers as though it were a wounded bird.
    Tears spilled out of Prue’s eyes. “Please don’t do this,” she said.
    “You can change,” he offered gently. “It doesn’t have to stay this way.”
    “But … how?” Her heart was pounding wildly. Through the teary blur, she could see the chipmunks gamboling on the dirt floor. She felt as if she were in a Disney cartoon.
    “You can start by trusting me,” he said. “You can trust me to love you unconditionally. On your terms. At your pleasure. As often or as little as you want. Forever.”
    She knew in her heart that he meant it.
    So she took his hand and put it where she needed him.

Adam and Eve
    P RUE?”
    “Mmm?”
    “You like some coffee?”
    “Huh-uh. Don’t get up yet. I’m fine.”
    “You look fine. Beautiful.”
    “Thank you.”
    “What about your driver?”
    “What about him?”
    “You’ve been gone three hours. Won’t he worry about you?”
    “He’s used to waiting. That’s what he’s paid for.”
    “But … if he calls the police …”
    “He won’t call the police. Why should he call the police?”
    “No reason. It’s getting dark, that’s all. I thought he might worry about you.”
    “It’s dark already?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “If you want me to leave, I …”
    “I don’t want you to leave.”
    “Good.”
    “If I had my way, you would never leave. We would lock ourselves away from that madness out there and … Jesus, that feels good.”
    “Mmm.”
    “Your hair is so soft. Like a baby’s.”
    “Mmm.”
    “I meant what I said, Prue.”
    “Mmm.”
    “Will you come back?”
    “Mmm.”
    “You wouldn’t lie to me?”
    “No.”
    “Good. Do that some more.”
    “Mmm.”
    “I know you can’t be seen with me. I know that.”
    “Luke …”
    “No. Listen to me. I know you. I know this isn’t easy for you. Just promise me you won’t torture yourself later.”
    “Torture myself?”
    “Feeling guilty. Punishing yourself for loving a man who could never fit into your world.”
    Silence.
    “That’s the truth, isn’t it? You know it, and I know it. What we have can only happen here. And never often enough. I know all that, Prue, and I accept it. I want you to do the same.”
    “Luke, I would never …”
    “Forget about never. Forget about forever. All I want, Prue, is a little now from time to time. Promise me that, and I’ll be happy.”
    “I promise.”
    “I can show you wonderful things.”
    “You already have.”
    “I think you should go now.”
    “All right.”
    “Don’t be afraid, Prue. Please.”
    “Of what?”
    “Us.”
    “I’ll never be afraid of that.”
    “Don’t be so sure.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Just come back, O.K.?”
    “Soon.”
    “I’ll be here.”

D’or
    M ARY ANN’S LE CAR BARRELED ALONG SKYLINE Drive on a June evening at sunset.
    “God,” said DeDe, glimpsing the sea. “It’s so infernally beautiful, isn’t it?”
    “It sure is,” said Mary Ann.
    “It never goes away, you know.”
    “What?”
    “That. Or the memory of that. Even in the jungle … even in that jungle, there were things about California that never left me. Even when I wanted them to.”
    Mary Ann hesitated, then asked: “Why would you want them to?”
    “You didn’t grow up here,” said DeDe. “Almost anything can be oppressive given the right circumstances.” She smiled almost wistfully. “And salvation comes when you least expect it.”
    Mary Ann turned and looked at her. “Surely you don’t consider Guyana your salvation?”
    DeDe shook her head. “I was talking about D’orothea.”
    “Oh.”
    “I’d like to now, if you don’t mind. Does it make you uncomfortable?”
    “Not at all,” said Mary Ann, lying only