Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

Michael.”
    “Sure, but …”
    “I’ve talked to Kevin,” she added. “He says he’ll be glad to stand in for me.”
    “Who’s Kevin?”
    She jerked her head toward the greenhouse. “David’s new squeeze. He’s had experience.”
    “He works at Tower Records, I thought.”
    “Yeah, but he’s off next week … and he used to do gardening for an admiral when he was in the navy, and … C’mon, Michael, don’t make me miss this opportunity.”
    He smiled at her. “Thousands of half-naked women going berserk in the redwoods.”
    “No!” she protested. “Some of them are totally naked.”
    He laughed. “You don’t sound like somebody looking for a wife.”
    Actually, she reminded him of himself years ago, relishing the prospect of a weekend of lust at the National Gay Rodeo in Reno.
    David’s new boyfriend stayed at Plant Parenthood for the rest of the afternoon, making himself useful in the fertilizer shed. He was industrious, cheerful and seemingly honest. Michael saw no reason why he wouldn’t serve as an adequate substitute for Polly.
    At four twenty-five, Teddy Roughton called. “It’s late notice,” he said, “but there’s a JO party at Joe’s tonight. I thought you’d wanna know.”
    Michael felt faintly embarrassed. “Thanks, Teddy. I think I’ll pass.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know. Those things make me feel … self-conscious or something.”
    Teddy clucked his tongue like a disapproving English matron. “Foolish, foolish boy …”
    “I know, but …”
    “He’s got brilliant visuals, Michael. That chap from the Muscle System is coming.”
    Michael thought for a moment. “The one with …?”
    “That’s riiight. And if that’s not enough for you, Joe’s rented One in a Billion.”
    “Fine, but …”
    “Think about it, at least. All right?” He might have been recruiting for a parish bake sale. “Eight o’clock. Joe’s house. We’ll see you if we see you.”
    The weather was unnaturally balmy at closing time, so Michael took down the top of his VW for the ride home. Tooling along Clement, he marveled at the warm silkiness of the air against his face. This was nothing less than a true summer evening, and the city smelled of steaks and hibiscus. His loins took note of the tropicality and began to lobby for their rights.
    You remember that guy, they said, that stud from the Muscle System with the beer-can dick and the pecs that won’t quit. What would it hurt to sit in the same room with him? O.K., to sit there naked with him and two dozen naked guys and beat the old … No, it was too embarrassing.
    Think of it as the Explorers, his loins argued. That camping trip in north Georgia, 1964. Guys around the campfire, weary from the hike. The sunburned necks, the smell of Off, Billy Branson’s perfect smile flashing in the firelight, tantalizing beyond belief. The circle jerk that almost happened but didn’t.
    Well, now it could happen.
    When he arrived at 28 Barbary Lane, Mrs. Madrigal confronted him on the landing. “You’d better hurry,” she said. “It starts in less than an hour.”
    He felt his jaw go slack. If she wasn’t a closet clairvoyant, she sure as hell acted like one.
    “I heard about it on the radio,” she explained, as if that took care of things.
    “You heard about what?” he asked.
    “The welcome home,” she said, “for those gay hostages.”
    The light dawned. Two of the thirty-nine American tourists held hostage by terrorists in Beirut had proved to be gay San Franciscans—lovers, no less. Upon their return to the States, they had faced the cameras as a couple, beaming proudly, moments before accepting the unconditional gratitude of Ronald and Nancy Reagan.
    Michael had thrilled to the sight and had told Mrs. Madrigal as much.
    “Where’s the ceremony?” he asked.
    “Eighteenth and Castro,” she said. “They’re blocking off the street.”
    He did some hasty calculation. The JO party was on Noe at Twenty-first, only four blocks up the hill from the rally. If he hurried, the evening might be made to accommodate both the erotic and the patriotic. “Thanks for the tip,” he told his landlady.
    She bent and picked up a plastic bucket full of cleaning gear. “Well, I thought you’d want to know, dear.”
    He pointed to the bucket. “Did Boris barf on the stairwell again?”
    She chuckled. “Brian’s nephew is staying with us for a few days.”
    “His nephew? Is he … grown?” Everything made him feel older these