Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

asked a male voice.
    “This is Sid Vicious. Who is this?” It really pissed him off when people didn’t identify themselves on the telephone.
    A long silence and then: “Is this Mary Ann Singleton’s apartment?” The guy was annoyed, Brian noted with some degree of pleasure.
    “She’s out of town right now. I suggest you try again in a few days.”
    “Do you know where she went?”
    That did it. “Look … who the hell is this?”
    “Larry Kenan,” replied the caller. “Ms. Singleton’s boss.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
    “Oh … I see. Mary Ann’s mentioned you. The news director, right?”
    “Right.”
    “This is Brian Hawkins. Her fiancé.” It was the first time he had ever used that word to describe himself. It had a curiously old-fashioned sound, but he enjoyed the hell out of it. Things were official now, he realized.
    “Good,” said the news director. “Then you can tell her she’s in deep shit.”
    “What’s the problem?” asked Brian, trying to change his tone to one of responsible concern.
    “The problem,” snapped Larry, “is that she skipped out on us yesterday—twenty minutes before the show. That’s the problem, Mr. Hawkins.”
    Brian thought fast. “She didn’t tell you?”
    “What?”
    “Her grandmother died. Unexpectedly. In Cleveland.” Brian winced at this hackneyed alibi. There was practically nothing that hadn’t been blamed on a dead grandmother.
    “Well … I’m sorry about that … but she didn’t say a word to anybody … not a goddamn word. There’s such a thing as professionalism, after all. We were stuck. We had to get Father Paddy to announce the movie.”
    “I saw that,” said Brian. “I thought he was rather good.”
    “Well, you tell your friend that she’d better report to me on Friday or she’s out on her ass. Got that?”
    Brian longed to tell him to shove it. Instead, he said: “I’m sure she’ll be back by then. She should be checking in with me, so I’ll be glad to tell her. I’m sorry. I know she wouldn’t intentionally …”
    “Friday,” said Larry Kenan. “After that, finito.”
    Brian’s face was hot with rage when he hung up. While most of his anger was directed towards the news director, he was also upset with Mary Ann for not giving him enough information to cover for her properly.
    What could have prompted such an abrupt exit, anyway? He presumed it involved her story about DeDe Day’s return from Guyana. That could even mean she was still in town—in Hillsborough, perhaps, putting the finishing touches on the piece.
    “I’m going away,” was all she had told him. “I’ll probably be gone a few days, so please don’t worry about me. I’ll call as soon as I get a chance. I’m so glad we’re getting married.”
    Swell. But where was she?
    He found her address book and looked up the number of the Halcyon residence in Hillsborough. When he dialed it, he reached a maid who was straight out of Gone With the Wind. There was no one there, she said.
    As soon as he had hung up, the phone rang again. He answered it, trying to sound a little nicer this time.
    “Is Mary Ann there?” came a woman’s voice that sounded strangely familiar.
    “She’s in Cleveland,” he replied, opting for consistency. “She should be back by Friday.”
    “Will you give her a message for me?”
    “Sure.”
    “Tell her I found the notes she left behind at the station. It’s vitally important that I talk to her.”
    “Right. Who is this, please?”
    “Bambi Kanetaka. Shall I spell it?”
    “No,” said Brian. “I know it. You’re the anchorperson, right? You’re famous.”
    “Tell her I can’t sit on this.”
    Brian suppressed a laugh. To hear Mary Ann tell it, this must be the only thing that Bambi Kanetaka couldn’t sit on.
    “Tell her that I won’t tell Larry until she calls me … but she must call me as soon as possible. From Cleveland, if necessary. Do you understand?”
    “I think so,” said Brian.
    Now what? he thought. Now what?

Dire Needs
    M ARY ANN SLEPT FITFULLY AT THE POTLATCH House. Twice during the night she awoke to DeDe’s screams, only to fall victim to her own nightmares when she plunged into sleep again. Morning came as a reprieve at 7:30.
    DeDe was already up, studying a map as she sipped a cup of black coffee. When she realized that Mary Ann’s eyes were opened, she smiled apologetically and said: “Night of the Living Dead, huh?”
    Mary Ann smiled back at her. “We can handle