Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

returned to his room.
She heard whistling in the topiary gardens, so she stood up and peered through the diamond panes. It was Wilfred, prancing along in the sunshine, enjoying his solitude the way a puppy would. She smiled involuntarily and went to the door.
“There’s breakfast in Michael’s room,” she yelled.
He stopped and hollered back: “Thanks, Mo.”
Mo? Where had he picked that up?
She walked toward him. “The weather’s nice, huh?”
“Super!” His sleeveless sweater was exactly the color of the daffodils along the path. He tilted his nose toward the sky and breathed deeply. “It smells … spicy.”
“It’s the box hedges,” she explained. “The sun does that to them.”
“Fancy that.”
She hesitated, then asked: “Why did you call me Mo just now?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Did Mouse call me that?”
“Mouse?”
“Michael,” she amended.
“Oh … no. Mo’s me own idea.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “You’ve known me half a day.”
He cocked his head at her. “So? I make up me own names for everything.”
“Oh.” It touched her to know that she already occupied a niche in this kid’s version of the universe. “Feel like a walk around the grounds?”
“Sure.”
“Great.” She pointed toward the stables. “Let’s head in that direction. Oh … I forgot. Your breakfast.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
“I’ll make you some later. How about that?”
“Super.”
They strolled side by side through the pungent corridors of the topiary gardens. Finally, she asked: “Did Michael tell you anything about me?”
“A bit,” he replied.
“Like what?”
“Well … he said I would like you.”
That stung a little. She’d been anything but likable, she felt. “I’m usually better than this,” she said.
The kid nodded. “That’s what he said.”
She turned and looked at him.
“He said your hair isn’t usually that color and that you’re really just a good basic dyke.”
She broke stride, then came to a halt. “He said that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well …” She began to walk again. “I haven’t been quite so basic lately.”
“You mean … sleeping with men?”
“God, no. I mean … you know … not so political.”
He blinked at her.
“You don’t know, do you?”
He shook his head.
“Lucky little sonofabitch.”
“Eh?” He seemed to take that the wrong way.
“I just meant … you seem to have missed most of the bullshit we have in the States. It’s different back there.”
“I dunno …”
“It is. Trust me. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Jesus.”
He made a face. “That’s what he said. Sixteen’s not so bleedin’ young.”
“O.K. If you say so.”
“It’s not.”
She picked a leaf off a shrub. “Are you and Michael …?”
He finished the question for her. “Doin’ it?”
She chuckled. “Yes.”
“He doesn’t want to,” said Wilfred. “I’ve done me best, believe me.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes he’s hard to figure out.”
Wilfred nodded, looking straight ahead. “Yeah.”
“Don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t,” he said.
She stopped and gazed up at the folly on the hilltop. She could smell hyacinths and wet loam and the warm musk of the hedges. There were swallows making check marks in the cloudless blue sky. “I don’t want to leave this,” she said.
“When do you go?” he asked.
“Day after tomorrow.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Oh … almost three weeks. I’ve been in London off and on.”
He nodded. “That’s where we saw you.”
“You were on the heath that day?”
“No. When you were at Harrods. Buying the pajamas.”
She couldn’t believe it. “You were there?”
He nodded delightedly. “I followed you to Beauchamp Place. Where you bought the dress.”
She shook her head in amazement.
His expression was almost devilish. “The dress you needed by Easter.”
She paused, then gave him a reproving glance. “You’re dangerous.” He laughed.
“And that’s how you got the address.”
He nodded proudly.
“Has Michael told you what he thinks about … all this?”
He shrugged. “He doesn’t know what you’re doing.”
“Do you?”
“No. Michael thinks you’re ashamed of it, whatever it is.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she replied somewhat defensively. “And stop looking at my hair.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you were.”
“I was just wondering … you know … what it really looks like.”
“Well,” she snapped, “right now it really