Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

England?”
“Just read the note.”
Mrs. Madrigal looked dubious as she set the envelope on her telephone stand. Mona was right, he decided. The landlady did act an awful lot like a father when the subject was Mona.
She beckoned him into the apartment, pointing to the sofa. “All right, now … sherry.” She bustled off to the kitchen, leaving him to absorb the familiar mysteries of this faded velvet cavern where silk tassels hung like stalactites. God, it was good to be back.
When she returned, she handed him a rose-colored wineglass full of sherry. “She’s actually living there?”
“No pumping.”
“Well, tell me what she’s doing, at least.” He sipped his sherry and smiled at her. “Following in her father’s footsteps.”
“Now, dear, if …”
“That’s all you get.”
The landlady fussed with a wisp of wayward hair. “Well, drink your sherry, then.”
He kept smiling as he sipped. Unable to restrain herself, she rose and went to the phone stand. She picked up the envelope, then set it down again and picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Alerting the troops.” She spoke into the receiver. “Our wandering boy is home. Yes … that’s right … that’s right. Fine … I’ll tell him.” She hung up and turned back to Michael. “Your presence is requested in the Hawkins residence in exactly three minutes.” She headed toward the kitchen.
“What am I waiting …?”
“Just sit there and finish your sherry, young man.”
He chuckled at her revenge. The sherry went down like sun-warmed honey. He sat there in the musty embrace of Mrs. Madrigal’s sofa and counted his blessings while she puttered about in the kitchen.
Finally, he rose. “Do you want to come with me?” he yelled.
“No, thanks,” came the reply. “I’m involved with a lamb stew at the moment.” Her head poked into view, her angular features ruddy from the stove. “We’re having dinner here tonight. I hope that’s all right.”
“Perfect,” he said, on his way out the door.
He picked up his suitcase and climbed the stairs, leaving it on the landing before heading up to the third floor. Mary Ann met him outside her door. “Look at you,” she squealed. “Chubbette.”
“Fuck you very much.”
They hugged for a long time before she led him into the apartment.
He looked around. “I thought Brian was here.”
“Sit down,” she said.
Something was the matter. He felt his sherried security begin to ebb. This was why he usually hated homecomings, this queasy preparation for the news they didn’t want to spoil your vacation with. His first thought was: Who else has died?
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. This just takes some … easing into. Sit down.”
He sat down.
She perched on a footstool. “Remember my old friend Connie Bradshaw?”
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
“You know … who I stayed with … when I moved out from Cleveland.”
“Oh, yeah. With the oil paintings on velvet.”
She nodded.
“The tacky stew.”
She winced. “She wasn’t tacky. Mouse.”
“But you always said …”
“Never mind that. She was very good to me, and I shouldn’t have said that.”
“O.K.”
“She died, Mouse.”
“Oh.” He was relieved in spite of his better instincts. Thank God, it was no one he knew.
“She died in childbirth. Well … not during, but a day or so after. It was something called eclampsia. Her blood didn’t clot. She had a stroke.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”
She nodded, then gazed at him soulfully. “She left me her baby, Mouse.”
“Huh?”
“She wasn’t married, and her parents are dead, and her brother’s a bachelor in med school and … she left me this note before she died and asked me to … raise it.” She finished with a sheepish little shrug and waited for his reaction.
“You mean … is it …?”
She nodded. “In the bedroom. With Brian.”
“My God … then it’s going to be …”
“She,” she put in. “She’s going to be our little girl.”
He was flabbergasted. “This is amazing, Mary Ann.”
“I know.”
“Well … uh … how do you feel about it?” She hesitated. “Pretty good, I guess.”
“Guess?”
“Well … I’m still adjusting to it.”
“What about Brian?”
She smiled at him. “Come see for yourself.”
Rising, she took his arm and led him into the bedroom. Brian was seated in the armchair by the bed, cradling the baby in his arms. A gooseneck lamp on the dresser formed a