Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

that Mr. Starr had constructed from two deck chairs and a blanket. Edgar had done that often—for DeDe—long, long ago.
    Without announcing herself, Frannie stood outside the woolen shelter and reveled in the mirthful music of her grandchildren’s voices.
    Then Mr. Starr began to sing to them:
    “Bye baby bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting, gone to get a rabbit skin to wrap the baby bunting in …”
    The sheer familiarity of that ancient nursery rhyme was all the reassurance the matriarch needed.
    It was comforting to know that some things never changed.

The Uncut Version
    M RS. MADRIGAL’S ANGULAR FACE SEEMED EVEN more radiant than usual as she reached for the heavy iron skillet that meant breakfast at 28 Barbary Lane.
    “I still can’t take it in,” she said. “Two eggs or three, dear?”
    “Three,” said Michael. “Neither can I. I’ve been promoting it for months, but I didn’t think either one of them could handle the commitment right now. Mary Ann more so than Brian, I guess.”
    Mrs. Madrigal cracked three eggs into the skillet, discarded the shells, and wiped her long fingers on her paisley apron. “I was the one who introduced them. Did you know that?”
    “No.”
    “I did,” beamed the landlady. “Just after Mary Ann moved in. I had a little dinner one night, and Mary Ann told me she was afraid there weren’t enough straight men in San Francisco.” Mrs. Madrigal smiled nostalgically. “That was before she knew about me, of course. If she had, I suppose we would’ve lost her to Cleveland for good.”
    Michael smiled. “So you introduced her to Brian?”
    “Not exactly. I told Brian she needed help moving the furniture. I let them take care of the rest. Wheat toast or rye, dear?”
    “Wheat, please.”
    “It was an unmitigated disaster, of course. Brian was a shameless womanizer, and Mary Ann was madly in love with Beauchamp Day at the time—God help her.” The landlady shook her head with rueful amusement. “Then she started dating the detective that Mona’s mother hired to check up on me.”
    Michael nodded soberly.
    “I was always rather glad he disappeared, weren’t you?” Her grin was as mischievous as it could get. “I do wonder what happened to him, though.”
    Michael felt himself squirming. He avoided this subject as much as possible. Mary Ann alone had witnessed the detective’s fall from a cliff at Lands End, and she had shared that secret with no one but Michael. There were some things that even Mrs. Madrigal should never be allowed to know.
    “Then came Burke Andrew,” said Michael, moving right along, “and those cannibals at Grace Cathedral.”
    Mrs. Madrigal’s Wedgwood eyes rolled extravagantly. “She knows how to pick ‘em, doesn’t she?”
    “Yep. But I think she’s finally got it right.”
    “So do I,” said the landlady. “I’m a little surprised, frankly.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know, exactly. I just have this gut feeling she’s up to something. She seems so preoccupied lately. I would have guessed marriage to be the last thing on her mind.”
“So,” asked the landlady as they sat down to eat, “what has our wandering boy been up to lately?”
    Michael pretended to be engrossed in the marmalade jar. “Oh … nothing much.” He knew she was inquiring into his love life, and he didn’t feel like talking about it. “I’m having a celibacy attack, I think. I stay home and watch TV a lot.”
    “How is that?”
    “How is what?”
    The landlady flicked a crumb off the corner of her mouth. “TV.”
    Michael laughed. “My favorite thing this week was a special report on circumcision.”
    “Indeed?” Mrs. Madrigal buttered another piece of toast.
    “It was a hoot,” said Michael. “They interviewed a circumcision expert named Don Wong.”
    “No!”
    Michael crossed his heart. “Swear to God.”
    “And what did he have to say?”
    Michael shrugged. “Just that there’s no valid reason anymore for mutilating little boys at birth. Jesus. How long does it take people to figure things out? My mother isn’t exactly a modern thinker, but she knew that thirty years ago.”
    Mrs. Madrigal smiled. “You should write her a thank you note.”
    “The funny thing is … I hated it when I was a kid. I was always the only kid in the shower room who wasn’t circumcised, and it bugged the hell out of me. Mama said: ‘You just keep yourself clean, Mikey, and you’ll thank me for this later. There’s not a thing wrong with what God