Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

“May I have your champagne, old man?”
The kid handed him his glass.
Teddy rose, hoisting the glass in Mona’s direction. “To the Lady of the Manor!”
His guests echoed the toast: “To the Lady of the Manor!”
General applause ensued. Teddy climbed down from the shuffleboard table, still smiling at Mona.
“Thanks for that,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he replied.
“I can’t believe this,” said Michael.
“Believe it,” Mona beamed. She turned to Teddy. “Do you have any more social duties?”
“That’s it. We’re done.”
“Fabulous. Why don’t you help Wilfred pick out his room? Michael and I are gonna take a little stroll.”
Wilfred grinned at Michael. “I’m gonna live here, mate! How ’bout that?”
“Pretty good, kiddo.” He put his arm around Wilfred’s shoulders and shook him, then glanced at Mona. “You’re just full of surprises tonight.”
“C’mon,” she said, “let’s promenade on the parapet.” She took his arm and led him away, stopping suddenly to shout a final instruction at Wilfred. “And don’t take the one above the library. That’s mine. It’s the only one that doesn’t leak.”
As they headed up the stairs, Michael asked: “How long has this been in the works?”
“Since this afternoon.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Well … maybe a little longer than that, but I finally talked to Teddy about it this afternoon. I thought about what you said, you know. I was just running away again. I’d sold myself cheap and I knew it. Teddy was never really big on selling the place, you know, He just didn’t want the responsibility.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but what about the money involved?”
“Oh, I waived my fee.”
He laughed. “I meant the money he would’ve gotten for the house.”
“Well, he won’t get it. We’ll still get rent from the villagers, though, and I’ll mail him a check every month. It’ll work out fine. Wilfred’s gonna help me set up a tearoom this summer for the tourists.”
“Really?”
“A real tearoom, dipshit.”
“I know.”
“We could use a gardener,” she said as they entered one of the bedrooms and stopped at the stairs to the parapet.
He smiled at her invitation. “You have Mr. Hargis.”
“You’ve met him, huh?”
He nodded. “Just now.”
“Isn’t he dear?”
“Yeah … he is.”
“His wife is a trip too. They know how everything works … or doesn’t work, as the case may be. I can do it, Mouse. I know I can. Lady Fucking Roughton. Can you stand it? Won’t I make a fabulous landlady?”
“I don’t know why not,” he replied. “Your father does.”
Her smile was so warm. “How is she doing?”
“Good. Better, when I tell her about you.”
“Let me write her a note or something. I think it should come from me this time.” She led him up the narrow stairs in the darkness. “The problem with me and her is … we’re too much alike. She wants me to be one of her brood, and I want a brood of my own.” She opened the parapet door and walked out into the moonlight.
“Yeah,” he said, following her, “but the hens can get together from time to time.”
There were headlights streaking the dark fields below as some of the celebrants made their way home. “I can picture her here,” said Mona. “Can’t you? Trooping around in that cloche of hers.”
“God,” agreed Michael.
“I want you to stay, Mouse.”
He turned and looked at her.
“We could have so much fun,” she said. “Think what it would be like with the three of us.”
“I’ve thought about it, Mona. Ever since you mentioned gardener.”
“Well, think about it some more. A whole new life, Mouse. Away from all that shit back there.” He chuckled.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Well … I like all that shit back there.”
“Right.”
“I do. I’m not sure how long I could leave it. I’m actually missing it.”
She sighed and looked toward the horizon. “Be that way, then.”
He remembered something and smiled.
“What?” she asked.
“Those three things … what were they? Hot job, hot lover, and …?”
“Hot apartment.”
He laughed. “I’d say this qualifies as a hot apartment.”
“Also a hot job,” she added.
“The lover part may be a little tough out here.”
She turned to him indignantly. “Have you seen the postmistress in Chipping Campden?”
“No.” He grinned.
“Then don’t be so goddamn sure of yourself.”
“A hot postmistress? C’mon.”
“Swear to God. Makes Debra Winger look like