Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

never did it at all until last Tuesday. I remember, though … all those kids listening to Bread and making out in the dark in the back of the bus on the way home from out-of-town ball games.”
    Brian held out his hand to stop Michael at the intersection. “Watch it,” he said. “Don’t get lost in your memories. This place is lethal on weekends.”
    “Think of that, though. I was thirty-one before I ever kissed anybody on public transportation. I consider it a major milestone.”
    “It was more than that,” teased Brian. “Some people never get around to kissing a cop, much less doing it on a bus. It was the cop, wasn’t it?”
    Michael feigned indignation. “Of course!”
    “Hey … what does a breeder know?”
    Michael grinned. “Where did you learn that word?”
    The light changed. They proceeded with graceless caution across the pebbly asphalt. “One of the guys at Perry’s,” replied Brian. “He said that’s what the faggots call us.”
    “Not this faggot,” said Michael.
    “I know.” Brian turned to look at him, almost losing his balance.
    Michael grabbed his arm. “Easy … easy….”
    “Anyway,” said Brian, regaining his composure, “it’s not even applicable to me. I’m thirty-six years old and I’ve never bred so much as a goldfish.”
    When they reached the other side, Michael aimed for a bench and sat down. Brian collapsed beside him, expelling air noisily.
    “Do you want to?” asked Michael.
    “What?”
    “Have children.”
    Brian shrugged. “Sure. But Mary Ann doesn’t. Not right now, anyway. She’s got a career going.” He smiled benignly. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
    Michael began unlacing his skates. “Where is she today, anyway?”
    “Having lunch. On the peninsula.”
    “What on earth for?”
    “Just … business.”
    They sat together in silence for several minutes, watching the passing scene in their bare feet. Finally, Michael said: “I think you two should get married.”
    “You do, huh?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Have you told her that?”
    “Not in so many words,” replied Michael.
    Brian grinned. “Neither have I.”
    “Why not?”
    Brian reached down and yanked up a handful of grass. “Oh … because I think I know what the answer would be … and I don’t need to hear that right now. Besides, there are lots of advantages to living alone.”
    “Name one.”
    Brian thought for a moment. “You can pee in the sink.”
    Michael laughed. “You do that, too, huh?” Suddenly, he clamped his hand on Brian’s leg and exclaimed: “Well, get a load of that, would you?”
    “What?”
    “Over there … by the conservatory. That overdressed blonde climbing into the limo.”
    “Yeah?”
    “That’s Prue Giroux.”
    “Who?”
    “You know … the dizzy socialite who writes for Western Gentry magazine.”
    “Never heard of her.”
    “She’s grinning like a Cheshire cat,” said Michael. “Where do you suppose she’s going?”

The Trouble with Dad
    A NYWAY,” DEDE CONTINUED, “MARCELINE KNEW how sick he was. She was worried about it all the time.”
    “You knew her?”
    DeDe nodded. “We were friends, of sorts. She was a pretty savvy woman.”
    “Yet she didn’t …?”
    “Hang on, O.K.? I wanna get through this. A Russian doctor named … Fedorovsky, I think … I’ll have to check my diary … this doctor came to Jonestown in the fall and said that Jones had emphysema. Marceline made a special trip to San Francisco to tell Dr. Goodlett that Jones’ fever was getting worse. He told her he couldn’t be responsible for treating him, if Jones wouldn’t leave the jungle for proper treatment. He washed his hands of it, in other words.
    “At this point, apparently, Marceline decided to approach a former Temple member who lived in San Francisco. This man was one of Jones’ most devoted disciples, but he was also a serious mental case … so serious, in fact, that Jones had refused him permission to participate in Jonestown.”
    “What was his name?” asked Mary Ann.
    “I don’t know. Marceline never told me. The point is … this guy bore a really freaky resemblance to Jones … the same body type and coloration, the same angularity to his face. He even capitalized on it by wearing sideburns and mirrored sunglasses.”
    “But … why?”
    DeDe shrugged. “All of the others wanted to follow Jones. This one wanted to be him.”
    “Did Marceline tell you this?”
    “Uh-huh. I also saw it with my own eyes.”
    “In