Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

City Athletic Club had graduated to the Muscle System farther down Market Street, but Michael found it hard to believe.
    Today, for instance, the club was wall-to-wall horse flesh—sleek, river-tanned torsos straining heroically against the high-tech tyranny of the Nautilus machines. All in all, a profoundly discouraging sight.
    For Michael’s own body needed work. Badly.
    After forty-five minutes of torturous leg lifts, decline presses, overhead presses, and super tricep exercises, he repaired to the Hollywood-size Jacuzzi where Ned was languishing like an aging gladiator.
    Michael eased himself into the bubbling water. “It’s practically an unwritten law,” he said.
    “What?” asked Ned.
    “If I’m in shape, I’m not in love. If I’m in love, I’m not in shape.”
    Ned laughed and squeezed the back of his neck. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
    “Thanks a lot,” said Michael.
    “Well, I assume you meant …”
    “I know, I know. And there is no lucky guy, either. I’m just ready for … something nice.”
    Ned extended his legs and floated on his back. “What about your cop friend? I thought he was making the earth move.”
    Michael shook his head. “It was only the bed.”
    The nurseryman laughed.
    “Besides,” added Michael, “I’ve had it with falling in love with love. I’m a lot more cautious than I used to be.”
    “Right.” Still on his back, Ned turned his head and smirked at him.
    “I am, ” Michael insisted. “You have to be cautious. Some guys have given up on love altogether, settling for a list of ten people they can have terrific sex with. You can think you’re falling in love, when really you’re just auditioning for the list. Does that make any sense?”
    “Did you make his Top Ten?” grinned Ned.
    “I didn’t mean Bill specifically,” said Michael.
    “Oh.”
    “Anyway, I think I’m more of a Golden Oldie now. It doesn’t matter. I’m kind of a washout at buddy sex. Why am I telling you this, anyway? You’ve got your own list.”
    Ned let his legs drop and sat up again. “It beats cruising the bars and fast-food sex. There’s a lot to be said for sex with friends, Michael.”
    “Maybe. But a little romance would be nice. A little sentiment.”
    “Fine. Go get it, Bubba.”
    Michael smiled. “I’m trying, God knows.”
    “Is that what you were doing at The Glory Holes last week?”
    “In my own way. Hell, I don’t know. I run in cycles, I guess. Sometimes I think I’m the horniest guy alive … and I don’t need a damn thing in the world but some hot stranger tweaking my tits and call me “buddy” in the dark. I mean … some anonymous sex is so wonderful that it almost seems to prove the existence of God.”
    Ned splashed water on him. “That’s because you’re on your knees, kiddo.”
    Michael laughed. “But that’s just part of the time. As soon as the moon changes or something, I want to be married again. I want to sit in a bathrobe and watch Masterpiece Theatre with my boyfriend. I want to plan things—trips to the mountains, dinners in Chinatown, season tickets to whatever. I want order and dependability and somebody to bring me NyQuil when I feel like shit.
    “And yet … I know that’ll pass too. At least, for a while. I know there’ll be times when I want to prowl again. I’m too much in love with adventure. I panic at the thought of being with only one person for the rest of my life. So what the hell is the answer?”
    Ned shrugged. “You find somebody who understands all that. And loves you for it.”
    Michael looked at his friend for a moment, then ducked beneath the surface of the water. When he reemerged, he said: “Why am I getting heavy in the Jacuzzi? It must be that damn wedding.”
    “Mary Ann and Brian’s?”
    Michael shook his head. “Chuck and Di’s.”
    “Is that today?”
    “Tomorrow morning. At three o’clock our time.”
    “I think I’ll miss that,” said Ned.
    “Not me. I think she’s great. He’s kind of a nerd, I guess, but she’s a doll. And I’m such a sucker for romance.”
    Ned regarded Michael affectionately, then gave his knee a playful shake. “God save the Queen,” he said.
    “C’mon,” grinned Michael, climbing out of the water, “it’s almost time for Mary Ann’s show.”

The Search Begins
    T HE AIR ALASKA FLIGHT TO SEATTLE TOOK ALMOST TWO hours—the one to Sitka, about three, with a brief stopover in Ketchikan, just inside the Alaskan border. By the time they reached Sitka,