Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

them.
    She fell back into her seat, frowning. This moment should have been theirs: hers and Luke’s. This buddy-buddy business with the cockpit was inexcusably selfish, thoughtless. When Luke finally sat back and squeezed her hand, she let him know she was pouting.
    “You O.K.?” he asked.
    She waited a beat. “Well, what was all that about?”
    “All what?”
    “My God! You haven’t stopped talking.”
    He pumped her hand again. “Sorry. Just … plane talk. I guess I got carried away.”
    “What was that about dire needs?”
    Luke blinked at her. “Huh?”
    “You said something about dire needs.”
    “No, I didn’t.” His face was resolute.
    “Luke, I heard you. You said something, something … dire needs. And the pilot said it back. Just a minute ago.”
    He studied her for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. “You misunderstood me, darling. We were talking about geography.” He held up his hand like a Boy Scout. “Honest injun. You didn’t miss a thing.”
    Prue let it drop. For one thing, the other passengers had begun to take an interest in her vexation. For another, she wanted this moment to be special, free from earthbound anxieties. Luke did, too, it seemed. He gave her his undivided attention for the rest of the tour, turning away only long enough to make a brief notation on the inside of a matchbook.
    “What was that?” she smiled. “A reminder?”
    Luke looked up, distracted.
    “I do that myself,” she added, not wanting to appear nosey. “My mind’s like a sieve.”
    He smiled faintly and returned the matchbook to his breast pocket.
    “Let’s go dancing tonight,” he said.

The First to Know
    B ACK AT WORK AT GOD’S GREEN EARTH, MICHAEL UNLOADED his rodeo experiences on an ever-indulgent Ned. The saga suffered in the retelling. Michael’s brief interlude with the slow-dancing construction worker emerged somehow as a hackneyed masturbatory fantasy, no longer the rare and wonderful thing it had seemed at the time.
    That night, he tried invoking the spirit of the weekend by listening to country music on KSAN, but Willie Nelson took on an oddly hollow note in a room full of bamboo furniture and deco kitsch. Cowboys didn’t collect Fiesta Ware.
    So he wandered downstairs and smoked a roach on the bench in the courtyard. The dope and the silence and the tiny sliver of a moon hanging in the trees all conspired to make him more contemplative than usual.
    Contemplative, hell—he was simply depressed.
    Nothing grand, of course. This was a garden-variety depression, born of boredom and loneliness and a pervasive sense of the immense triviality of life. It would pass, he knew. He would make it pass.
    But what would he put in its place?
    The clock said 3:47 when the phone woke him.
    He stumbled out of bed and lunged for the receiver. “This better be good,” he told the caller.
    “It is,” came the reply. Mary Ann’s giggle was unmistakable. Michael settled himself in a chair. “What’s up, Babycakes?”
    “Brian and I are getting married!”
    “Now?”
    Another giggle. “Next month. You aren’t pissed, are you?”
    “Pissed?”
    “About waking you up. We wanted to make it official. Calling you was the only thing we could think of.”
    Michael was so touched he wanted to cry. What followed, though, was total silence.
    “Mouse? Are you there? You are pissed, aren’t you? Look, we’ll talk to you in the …”
    “Are you kidding? This is fabulous, Babycakes!”
    “Isn’t it, though?”
    “It’s about time,” said Michael. “Are you pregnant?”
    Mary Ann roared. “No! Can you believe it?”
    “Is Brian?”
    He heard her speak to Brian. They were obviously in bed. “He wants to know if you’re pregnant.”
    Brian came on the line. “The bitch knocked me up.”
    Michael laughed. “Somebody had to do it.”
    “Are you alone?” asked Brian.
    “Hell, no,” answered Michael. “Say hello to Raoul.”
    “Hey, that’s O.K….”
    “Calm down,” laughed Michael. “I made that up.”
    “You shithead.”
    “I know. Sorry.”
    “I was picturing some French Canadian with five o’clock shadow.”
    “That’s funny,” said Michael. “So was I. God, Brian … this is so damn wonderful.”
    “Yeah … well, we just wanted you to be the first to know.”
    “Goddamn right,” said Michael.
    “We love you, man. Here’s Mary Ann again. She’s got some more news for you.”
    “Mouse?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Have you got a TV set at work?”
    Michael