Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

time for a little nappie, don’t you think?”
    The children groaned in protest.
    As Frannie took their hands and led them away, Claire winked at her conspiratorially. “Meet you in The Garden, honey.”
“The Garden” was the Garden Lounge, an elegant bar on the Veranda Deck that featured chamber music by a group called the San José Trio. Frannie and Claire retreated there daily to bask in lovely, old-fashioned renditions of tunes like “Over the Rainbow” and “Londonderry Air.”
    “Where’s Jimbo?” asked Frannie, as soon as the Mai Tais arrived. Claire’s husband was almost always with them. His loving attentiveness to Claire made Frannie quite lonesome sometimes.
    Claire’s eyelids fluttered histrionically. “In the goddamn casino, wouldn’t ya know it? I figured the bug would bite him sooner or later. I told him to go right ahead and gamble to his heart’s content … I’d just find myself a nice gigolo.”
    Frannie smiled. “They don’t actually have …?”
    “Of course they do, honey! They don’t call them that, of course, but those boys on the cruise staff are all … shall we say expected to dance with the old ladies … and the last time I checked I qualified, goddamnit!”
    Frannie laughed. “But that’s where it stops, isn’t it?”
    “You want more?” roared Claire. “Forget it, honey. Most of ’em are gay. The boy that does the exercise class is shacked up with the tap dancer, and that magician only has eyes for the cute wine steward. And that’s just the staff! Don’t get me started on the passengers, honey. That Mrs. Clinton, for instance … the one with diabetes who has to travel with a companion to make sure she doesn’t eat too much sugar? Hah! Companion, my ass. Oh, I tell you, it is rich. The gossip on this tub is almost better than the food. I love it! I’m addicted to cruise ships. It’s not like it used to be in the old days, though. Some of the glamor is gone. The truly rich don’t ride these babies anymore. But there’s nothing like being at sea, honey … nothing! Lord, look at the mist on that mountain!”
    Frannie, in fact, was already looking. Edgar would have loved this, she thought. He was always such a grump on tropical vacations—and such a lovable creature when the air was brisk and the sky was gray.
    Frannie set her Mai Tai down and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Claire. As usual, my timing is dreadful.”
    “Honey, is something the …?”
    The matriarch laid her hand delicately on her waist. “Just a little … queasiness.”
    “Lord, you do look a little green. And me running off my goddamn mouth like that.” Claire checked her watch. “You’re in luck. The doctor’s still in. You should stock up on Dramamine. honey. He’s down on B-Deck near the elevator.”
    Frannie rose and thanked her. “Do you know his name?”
    “Fielding,” replied Claire. “You can’t miss him. He’s one gorgeous hunk of man.”

I See by Your Outfit …
    I F RENO WAS ANY INDICATION, THE NUMBER 6 HAD FINALLY become synonymous with cheap motel. Besides the original Motel 6 (which actually had charged six dollars a night, long ago), Michael and Bill could choose from the Western 6 Motel (attached to a Denny’s) and the 6 Gun Motel (near the Nevada State Fairgrounds).
    They settled on the 6 Gun, because Michael felt that the weekend’s cowboy motif should be carried out to the fullest. He wasn’t disappointed. The motel’s nightstands featured an upturned pistol surmounted by a lampshade. There was also an enormous foam rubber ten-gallon hat on the wall in the lobby.
    “Ah, the West!” exclaimed Michael, as he flung open the curtains to let in the sunshine.
    Bill continued unpacking. “You live in the West.”
    “Yeah,” said Michael, “but sometimes you have to go east to be Western.”
    “How’s the view?”
    “Awe inspiring. The Exxon station and the hills beyond.”
    Bill chuckled. “Great.”
    “There are also seven—count ‘em—seven homosexuals sunning on the ten square feet of grass between us and the Exxon station. God, is this town ready?”
    Bill shrugged. “Slot machines can’t tell the difference between queer money and the other kind.”
    “I don’t know,” said Michael. “According to the papers, the lieutenant-governor didn’t seem any too thrilled. Besides, after that Examiner headline, they must be a little nervous about fags coming to Nevada.”
    “What Examiner headline?”
    “You know … the MGM