Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

thought Michael. This was getting better all the time.
    “I have a friend,” Michael continued, “who used to go to The Trench on uniform night, because he loved having sex with people who looked like cops or Nazis or soldiers. One night he went home with a guy in cop drag, and the guy had this incredible loft south of Market, with neon tubing over the bed and high-tech everything … to die, right? Only my friend didn’t say a word, because he was supposed to be a prisoner, and the other guy was supposed to be a cop, and a prisoner doesn’t say ‘What a fabulous apartment’ to a cop. He said he could hardly wait for the sex to be over so he could ask the guy where he got his pin spots from. I don’t have that kind of self-discipline, I suppose. I wanna be able to say ‘What a fabulous apartment’ first thing. Is that too much to ask?”
    The big mustache bristled as he smiled. “It is at my house.”
    Michael laughed. “It doesn’t have to be fabulous.”
    “Good.”
    “It doesn’t even have to be your apartment. Mine’s available.”
    “Where do you live?”
    “Russian Hill.”
    “C’mon,” said the man, downing his drink, “mine’s closer.”
He lived on 17th Street in the Mission. His tiny studio was blandly furnished, with occasional endearing lapses into kitsch (a Mike Mentzer poster, a Lava Lite, a plastic cable car planter containing a half-dead philodendron).
    Michael was enormously relieved. Bill Rivera wasn’t tasteless—he was taste free. Gay men with no taste were often the hottest ones of all. Besides, thought Michael, if we ever kept house together, he’d probably let me do the decorating.
    Then he spotted the handcuffs on the dresser.
    “Uh … pardon me?”
    Bill looked up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his Hush Puppies. “Yeah?”
    Michael held out the handcuffs, as if presenting Exhibit A. “Aren’t into this, huh?”
    Bill shook his head. “It’s just a living.”
    “Uh …?”
    “I’m a cop. Does that mean you wanna leave?”
    “Now wait a minute …” Michael was dumbfounded. Bill stood up and removed something from a dresser drawer, holding it out to his accuser.
    “My badge, O.K.?”
    Michael looked at it, then back at Bill, then back at the badge again.
    “O.K.?” asked Bill.
    “O.K.,” said Michael.
    Almost numb, he sat down on the bed next to the policeman and began unlacing his shoes. “What a fabulous apartment,” he said.

The Pygmalion Plot
    P RUE HAD ALREADY RIPPED THREE SHEETS OF PAPER from her typewriter when her secretary stepped into the study.
    “It’s Father Paddy,” she said. “He says it won’t take long.”
    Prue groaned softly and picked up the phone. “Yes, Father?”
    “I know you’re on deadline, darling, but I need you to answer a few questions.”
    “Shoot.”
    “How does your schedule look? The next three weeks or so.”
    Prue hesitated. “What are you up to?”
    “Tut-tut. Aren’t we snippy this morning. Just answer the question, my child.”
    Prue checked her appointment book. “O.K.,” she said. “Fairly slow, actually.”
    “Good. Keep it that way.”
    “Father …”
    “And tell your Mountain Man not to fill up his dance card either. I’ve plans for the two of you.”
    “What?”
    “Never you mind. In good time, my child, in good time.”
    “Father, I don’t know what you’re cooking up, but you might as well know that Luke is not … well, he’s not the sort of man who’ll take orders from other people.”
    “Even you?”
    “Of course not!”
    “But, surely, if he really cares about you, Prue … if he wants to be part of your life, then he should be willing to meet you on some … middle ground.”
    “We’ve already talked about that. There is no middle ground.”
    “Ah, but I think there is! Something that will appeal to his love of nature and to your sense of propriety. For God’s sake, girl … are you happy?”
    A long silence, and then: “No.”
    “No,” repeated Father Paddy. “You are not. And why are you not happy? Because you’re in love with that creature, and you want to be with him night and day.” The cleric paused dramatically, then lowered his voice for emphasis. “I’m going to give you that, darling. I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”
    Prue sighed audibly. “If you won’t tell me what it is, how in the world can I …”
    “All right, all right …”
    So he told her.

Countdown
    T HE LINE FOR RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK WAS SO