Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

HOPELESSLY serpentine that Mary Ann and Brian decided to forego their movie plans and watch television together at home.
    “I like this better, anyway,” said Mary Ann, lifting her McChicken sandwich from its styrofoam coffin. “I haven’t had a good TV-and-junk-food pig-out in ages.”
    Brian swallowed a mouthful of Big Mac, then mopped up with the back of his hand. “It fits the budget, anyway.” He cast an impish glance at Mary Ann. “But you don’t have to worry about that now, do you?”
    Mary Ann frowned. “Why do you keep riding me about that?”
    Brian shrugged. “Why do you have to be so secretive about it? Who am I gonna tell, huh? Some gin-soaked old society dame puts you on her payroll, and you run around acting like I need a National Security Clearance just to talk to you.”
    “C’mon, Brian. You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”
    “Gimme a hint, then, and I’ll shut up.”
    Mary Ann hesitated. “If I tell you …”
    Brian beamed triumphantly.
    “If I tell you, Brian, you’ve got to promise me it won’t go any further than this. I mean it, Brian. This is deadly serious.”
    Brian made a poker face and held up his hand. “My solemn oath. A lovers’ pact.”
    “I haven’t even told Michael.”
    Brian bowed. “I’m deeply honored.”
    “DeDe Day is back in town,” said Mary Ann.
    “Wait a minute …”
    Mary Ann nodded. “Mrs. Halcyon’s daughter. The one who disappeared from Guyana.”
    Brian whistled. “Holy shit.”
    “She’s been living in Cuba for the past two-and-a-half years.”
    “What about … whatshername … Mona’s old girlfriend?”
    “D’orothea. They were living together … along with the twins that DeDe had by the delivery boy at Jiffy’s. D’orothea’s still in Cuba. DeDe’s hiding out in Hillsborough now. Her mother hired me to handle the press when DeDe breaks the story.”
    Brian’s brow furrowed. “When she breaks it? You went to Hillsborough weeks ago. Why hasn’t she broken it already? What’s she hiding out for?”
    “That’s the part I’m fuzzy on. She claims she wants to talk to some Temple members about something. She won’t tell me what it is yet.”
    Brian smiled sardonically. “She’s probably looking for a good publisher. Half of those Jonestown people are writing books.”
    Mary Ann shook her head. “It’s much more serious than that. Besides, I’m writing the book when the time comes.”
    “Good.”
    “I just don’t know what I’ll be writing.”
    “Not so good.”
    “You’re telling me! Something big is missing, Brian … something she lives with night and day. I can almost feel it in the room with us when we’re talking.”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know.” Mary Ann shivered suddenly. “God, it gives me the creeps. I agreed to keep quiet about everything until next week. Then I’m free to negotiate with the station. She’s promised to fill me in as soon as she finds out … whatever she’s trying to find out.”
    “It sounds like she’s afraid of recriminations.”
    “I’ve thought of that,” said Mary Ann, “but it doesn’t really make any sense. If the other survivors are working the talk show circuit, as you pointed out, what has DeDe got to be afraid of?”
    “She could be just plain wacko.”
    “I don’t think so,” said Mary Ann. “She’s a pretty solid person.”
    “That airhead debutante …?”
    “She’s changed a lot, Brian. I guess the children did it. She lives for them now. She may be a little paranoid about their safety, but that seems perfectly normal after what she’s been through.”
    “I think you’re the one who should be paranoid,” said Brian.
    “Why?”
    “What’s to stop another reporter from stumbling on this one before you break it?”
    Mary Ann winced. “I know, but she’s being as careful as possible. She hides in the guest wing whenever visitors come. And she doesn’t leave the house that much.”
    “Just to visit Temple members, huh?”
    She saw his point all too well.
They were in bed watching Tom Snyder when the phone rang.
    Mary Ann answered it. “Hello.”
    “Mary Ann … it’s DeDe.” Her voice sounded small and terrified. Mary Ann glanced at the digital clock on the dresser. It said 1:23.
    “Hi,” said Mary Ann. “Are you O.K.?” She assumed that DeDe was having those bad dreams again.
    “I need to see you,” said DeDe.
    “Sure. Of course. When?”
    “Tomorrow morning?”
    “Could we make it the afternoon? Brian and