Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

their separate rituals of ablution, passing each other like salesmen in a boardinghouse, toothbrushes in hand, unnaturally formal. Brian went to bed first, falling asleep almost instantly on one of the studio couches. Thack stripped to his underwear and took the other couch, leaving Michael with the convertible sofa, which he didn’t bother to convert.
    He slept fitfully, awaking just before dawn. Thack was still asleep under his blanket, breathing heavily. Brian stood across the room in his boxer shorts, awkward and disoriented as a wounded bear.
    “You O.K.?” Michael whispered.
    Brian held up a corner of his sheet. “Look at this,” he said. It was drenched with sweat.
    “There’s fresh linen in that cedar chest,” said Michael. “I’ll just get—”
    “What the fuck’s happening, man?”
    Michael took a sheet from the chest and flung it over the studio couch. “Lie down,” he said.
    “Look, Michael …”
    “Go on. Lie down.”
    Brian lay on his stomach. Michael blotted his back with the wet sheet, then kneaded the knotty muscles above his shoulder blades. There was a moment of deceptive quiet before Brian began to sob into the cushions.
    “Hush,” whispered Michael. “It’s O.K…. It’s O.K.”

DeDe’s Duty
    D AY BROKE AT WIMMINWOOD. DEDE WAS THE FIRST IN her family to stir, rubbing her eyes until they focused on the smooth green ribbon of river, the shimmering willows along the shore. She slipped free from the comfy entanglement of D’or’s arms and eased herself out of the sleeping bag.
    She sat there naked for a while, hugging her knees, listening to the wrens in the madrone trees. As much as she treasured D’or and the kids, she couldn’t help savoring a moment when the world was all hers.
    Things had gone beautifully, so far. Edgar had acclimated instantly to Brother Sun, displaying a knack for communal living which had dazzled even Laurie, his overseer. When his NCQ, (Non-Competitive Quotient) was measured, he had beaten the socks off all the other kids in the compound.
    DeDe, D’orothea and Anna had sampled most of the wonders of Wimminwood. They had played New Games, learned to face-paint, and splashed in the river like overheated ponies. The night before, with a thousand other women, they had sprawled on their backs under the stars while Hunter Davis sang to them:
    You ‘re the perfect match / for the imperfect me / coming on when I hold back / holding back when I come on / and darling I love you.
    Hearing those lyrics, DeDe had turned and gazed at the miraculous planes of her lover’s face, the bottomless black eyes tilted toward the moon.
    Then, almost instinctively, she had reached for her daughter’s hand, so small and silky-cool in the evening air.
    She was happy, she realized. She had everything she wanted. D’or had been right about Wimminwood.
    They ate breakfast, as usual, in the open-air vegetarian “chow hall.” Food servers clad only in aprons and boots, all four cheeks ruddy from the grills, plopped mounds of steaming oatmeal onto their plates, ordering stragglers to “move it, please, move it.”
    They found a place at a picnic table with three other people. “Listen,” said D’or, digging into her oatmeal, “Anna and me thought we’d go visit Edgar, then maybe check out the Crafts Tent.”
    DeDe looked at her daughter. “Shopping again, huh?”
    “D’or said it’s O.K.”
    “We have a limited need for stoneware, you know.”
    Anna made her grumpy face.
    “The same goes for tattoos, temporary or otherwise.”
    The little girl shot D’or an accusatory glance. “Did you tell her?”
    D’or acted as negotiator with DeDe. “Maybe just a little one, huh? Femme. Something in Laura Ashley.”
    DeDe laughed in spite of herself. “Well, you’re the culprit if it doesn’t wash off.”
    “Yay!” crowed Anna. The child was a chronic shopaholic, DeDe realized. Like her grandmother. Like DeDe herself back in her post-debutante, pre-People’s Temple days. Was it something in the genes?
    “Aren’t you coming with us?” asked D’or.
    “No,” said DeDe. “My work duty is this afternoon, so I’m gonna goof off for a while.”
    “Go to a workshop,” said D’or. “I might,” said DeDe.
    “There’s one just made for you in Area Five.”
    “What?”
    D’or’s lip curled mischievously. “Check it out. Ten o’clock. Area Five.”
    Alone again, DeDe stood at the bulletin board and considered her options:
9:00–10:00
CRYSTAL WORKSHOP :