Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

Intactica, leader of the Restive Virgins.’ ”
    “Fart jokes,” said Booter. “Can’t we do better than that?”
    “Well … you laughed your ass off at that song I did for … What the hell are you talking about? You helped me write it.”
    “I was drunk,” said Booter.
    Jimmy snorted.
    “I can’t go tonight, Jimmy.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’m … going into town.”
    “Town?” said Jimmy.
    “Yeah.”
    “Monte Rio?”
    Booter nodded.
    “Why the hell would you leave the Grove on the night of the Low Jinks?”
    “You’re not gonna be in it,” said Booter.
    “Well, I know, but … what the hell, forget it.”
    “I’ll be at the Grove Play, Jimmy. Wouldn’t miss it.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    Booter felt the weight of his guilt. He and Jimmy hadn’t missed a Low Jinks together for at least a decade. Jimmy was a born annotator, a bantamweight Boswell who loved nothing so much as the act of explaining. Without a listener, he was lost.
    “Look,” said Booter. “If you keep your trap shut, I’ll tell you the real reason.”
    Jimmy’s scowl slackened. He scratched himself under his arm. “Go on,” he said.
    “It’s George,” said Booter. “He’s coming in tonight.”
    Jimmy blinked at him.
    “The Vice-President.”
    “Yeah. So what? I knew that.” He scratched again and frowned. “What does that have to do with Monte Rio?”
    “Nothing,” Booter replied. “Forget I said that. There’s gonna be a reception up at Mandalay.” This was a much safer lie, since Jimmy had never been invited to Mandalay.
    “A reception?” Jimmy said quietly. “During Low Jinks?”
    The truth, Booter decided, might have been preferable to this tangled web. “It’s very small,” he said at last. “They don’t wanna make a big noise.”
    Jimmy nodded slowly, taking it in.
    “You know I wouldn’t miss the Jinks with you if there wasn’t a good reason.”
    Jimmy ran his fingers through his wispy hair. “Yeah, well, that’s a reason, all right.”
    Booter could tell he was hurt.
    Jimmy looked up dolefully. “Tell him I said hello, will ya?”

Betrayed
    S TINGING FROM THE INCIDENT AT THE GATE, DEDE RETURNED to her campsite, to find it empty. D’or and Anna were gone, apparently still on their shopping spree at the Crafts Tent. In her current state, she found solitude unendurable, so she doubled back to the boys’ compound and asked for Edgar.
    He arrived dripping wet, fresh from the swimming hole, already the color of a new catcher’s mitt. “What’s up, Mom?”
    “Oh … nothing in particular. Just thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
    He nodded. “I’m O.K., Mom.”
    “I know that.”
    Gesturing behind him, he said: “There’s this really major water fight …”
    “Go for it,” she said, smiling at him. He smiled back, then vanished into the undergrowth.
    She headed inland toward the Day Stage. The walk and the music would be just the thing for her blues. She was here to have a good time, wasn’t she? Why let somebody like Rose Dvorak ruin her day?
    Once out of the woods, she rejoiced in the feel of the sun against her skin. Linda Tillery was on stage singing “Special Kind of Love.” An endless line of women snaked jubilantly across the clearing, drunk on the music.
    She had been there less than five minutes when she saw Sabra Landauer.
    The first thing she noticed was the skunk stripe. The second thing was the tall, bare-breasted woman who stood at Sabra’s side, deep in animated conversation with the poet-playwright.
    It was D’or.
    Her throat went dry. Her skin grew prickly with dread.
    Before she could retreat, D’or spotted her and waved. “Come join us.”
    As if in a nightmare, she moved across the field.
    “I want you two to meet,” said D’or. “Sabra … this is DeDe Halcyon.”
    Not “DeDe Halcyon, my lover,” just plain old “DeDe Halcyon,” thank you very much. Sabra, of course, didn’t need a last name.
    “Hello,” said DeDe, shaking the large, bony hand of the poet-playwright. She was certain she wouldn’t be remembered, and she wasn’t. She turned back to D’or and asked: “Where’s Anna?”
    The accusation in the question wasn’t lost on her lover, but she remained breezy. “Over in Day Care, bless her heart. She wanted to show off her treasures to the other kids.”
    She’s not the only one, thought DeDe.
    “This is Sabra’s first time at Wimminwood,” D’or added. “I’m giving her the grand tour.”
    Sabra smiled obligingly.