Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

AS BRIAN HAD EXPECTED.
    “You’re Bambi,” he said as cordially as possible, extending his hand. “I’m Brian, Mary Ann’s friend. I watch you on TV all the time.”
    She barely returned his handshake. “She’s not here, huh?” She scanned the room as she spoke, as if she might spot Mary Ann peering out from under a tablecloth or crouching behind a curtain. “I haven’t got a lot of time, you know.”
    “She just called from the airport,” said Brian. “Apparently, she had a little trouble making a connection in Denver—the traffic controllers’ strike. Here, let me take your coat. I’m sure she won’t be long.”
    Bambi slid out of her bronze metallic windbreaker but retained control of the matching shoulder bag. Hanging the jacket on a chair, Brian grinned with calculated boyishness and said: “You look even better in person.”
    “Thanks,” said Bambi.
    Another grin, this time ducking his head. “I guess you hear that a lot?”
    The newswoman shrugged. “It’s nice to hear it, anyway.”
    Brian sprawled on the sofa, letting his denimed legs fall open carelessly. “I liked your stuff on the gas leak, by the way. Very cool-headed and thorough.”
    “You saw that?”
    Brian nodded. “On three channels, as a matter of fact. Yours was the only one that made sense. Sit down. You might as well get comfortable.”
    Bambi pulled up a Breuer chair and sat down, keeping the handbag in her lap. “They almost didn’t send me on that story,” she said.
    “Really?”
    The newswoman nodded. “You’d be surprised what prejudice there is against letting women do any of the really hard-hitting disaster stuff. I just keep pushing, though.” She smiled valiantly.
    “Good for you!” said Brian. “Look … I’m gonna have a cup of tea. Will you join me?”
    Bambi shook her head. “I can’t handle the caffeine.”
    “It’s herbal,” said Brian. “Our landlady makes it. Incredibly soothing. You should try a cup.”
    “Oh … all right.”
    He was back in five minutes, his hand shaking slightly as he handed her the cup. She sipped it tentatively, then unleashed her best six o’clock smile. “It’s marvelous! What’s in it?”
    “Uh … hibiscus flowers, orange peels … stuff like that.”
    “Does she have a name for it?”
    “Oh … Alaskan Twilight, I think.”
    Bambi took another sip. “Mmmm …”
    Brian kept up the idle chatter for another five minutes until the newscaster’s speech began to slur. For one terrifying moment, she seemed to realize what had happened, staring at him in confusion and anger. Then her eyelids drooped shut, and she slumped forward in the chair.
    “Jesus,” murmured Brian. He rose and checked the body; she was out cold but still breathing. When he tilted the head back, a pearl of saliva rolled from the corner of the newscaster’s mouth.
    “O.K.,” he said out loud.
    The door to the hallway swung open. Michael’s head appeared first, then Mrs. Madrigal’s. The landlady’s brow was creased with concern. “Are you sure she’s …?”
    “She’s all right,” Brian assured her. “What’s in that stuff, anyway?”
    “Never mind,” said Mrs. Madrigal. “It’s organic.”
    “And it lasts fifteen minutes?”
    “More or less,” replied the landlady. “I wouldn’t push it. Michael dear, if you’ll grab the feet, Brian can take her arms. I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”
    Michael knelt by the body and grasped the newscaster’s ankles. “We could just finish her off.”
    “Michael!” Mrs. Madrigal was in no mood for joking.
    Hoisting their quarry until she was waist high, Brian and Michael staggered into the hallway.
    “Alaskan Twilight,” grinned Michael. “Gimme a break!”

The New Boarder
    N IGHT HAD FALLEN BY THE TIME MRS. MADRIGAL rejoined her “boys” on the roof of 28 Barbary Lane.
    “Well,” she said, slipping between them and squeezing their waists, “her temper’s as foul as ever, but her appetite’s improved considerably.”
    Brian looked relieved. “For a while there, I was sure she was going for a hunger strike.”
    “Has she stopped yelling?” asked Michael.
    The landlady nodded. “I think I convinced her the basement is soundproof. We don’t need to worry about the neighbors, really. Even when she’s making noise, you can’t hear her beyond the foyer. Visitors are another story.”
    Michael gazed out at the lights on the bay. “It’s like The Collector,” he said.
    “She has all the amenities,”