Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

Thack, as they climbed out of the VW.
    “Oh,” said Michael. “O.K.”
    He and Brian entered the cabin, flipping on lights, kicking off their shoes. Brian went to the kitchen sink and began washing the dishes from lunch.
    “I’ll get that,” said Michael.
    “No problem,” said Brian.
    Michael sat down at the kitchen table and watched Brian for a moment. “You feel O.K.?”
    “Fine.”
    “All day?”
    “Yeah. I feel much better, actually.”
    “Good,” said Michael. “Must’ve been a bug.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Wren’s nice, isn’t she?”
    “Yeah,” said Brian. “She is.”
    “Is there more of that lemon cake in the fridge?”
    “I think so.”
    Michael went to the refrigerator and found the ravaged Sara Lee tin. “She likes you,” he said, plunging a fork into the cake.
    “I know,” said Brian.
    When Thack returned to the cabin, Brian was fast asleep; Michael was pretending to be. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched as Thack shucked his clothes and shimmied under the covers on his studio couch.
    Thack rolled over once or twice, then threw back the covers and got up again, crossing the room to Michael’s bed. He knelt and brushed his lips softly across Michael’s cheek.
    “Good night, buddy,” he said.
    Michael opened his eyes and smiled at him. “Good night,” he said.
    A piney zephyr passed through the room. Down by the creekbank, a frog was making music with a rubber band.

Red Alert
    F EELING ACHY AND COTTON-MOUTHED, DEDE AWOKE AT first light, to find D’or sitting by the river’s edge.
    “There’s coffee if you want it,” said D’or, barely looking up.
    “Is Anna awake?” asked DeDe.
    “No.”
    DeDe sat down next to D’or in the sand. High above them, a huge black bird was circling Wimminwood in a sinister fashion. She had seen these birds before, but this one struck her as an omen, a harbinger of horrors to come. “I wanna go home,” she said. “Why?”
    “I just do, D’or. I don’t like what it’s doing to us.” D’or hesitated, then said: “You’re overreacting.”
    “I am not.”
    “You’re letting that … business at the gate get to you.” DeDe looked at her and frowned. “Who told you about that?”
    D’or shrugged.
    “It’s all over Wimminwood, isn’t it?” D’or looked away.
    “Why are they blaming me? That’s what I wanna know.”
    “Nobody’s blaming you. It’s over, hon. Put it behind you.”
    “O.K., fine,” said DeDe. “It’s behind me. Let’s go home.”
    D’or heaved a forbearing sigh. “Hon, I promised the kids we’d stay a few more days.”
    “Why did you do that?”
    “Because they like it here, O.K.?”
    “When did they tell you that?”
    “Last night, DeDe. When you were out getting drunk.”
    “I didn’t get drunk.”
    “Whatever.”
    “I drank. There’s a big difference. Why were you getting the kids on your side?”
    “What?”
    “You never ask their opinion unless you want their support. What’s the big deal about staying here?”
    D’or dug a little trench in the sand, then patted the sides methodically. “There’s lots we haven’t done.”
    “Like what?”
    D’or shrugged. “The Holly Near concert. Sabra’s doing a poetry workshop this afternoon.”
    “A poetry workshop,” echoed DeDe.
    “Yes.”
    “Since when have you been interested in poetry?”
    She felt the whip sting of D’or’s eyes. “Since when have you asked?”
    “Oh, c’mon.”
    Using her palm, D’or smoothed over the little trench. “If you wanna take the car, go ahead. The kids and I are staying.”
    DeDe and Anna were still sunning when D’or returned from Sabra’s workshop. It was almost four o’clock, and the willows were awash with gold.
    “Don’t burn yourself, hon.” D’or sat down on the sand next to Anna.
    Anna held up her Bain de Soleil bottle. “I’m wearing number eight,” she said.
    “Yeah, but you’ve had enough.”
    Anna turned to DeDe. “Mom,” she intoned, elongating the word until it sounded like a foghorn. “Do I hafta?”
    “I think so, precious. Go on. Hit the showers. I’ll be up in a little while.”
    As the child scampered away, DeDe turned to D’or. “So,” she said. “How was it?”
    “Interesting,” said D’or. “You should’ve come.”
    DeDe shrugged. “I know what she’s all about.”
    “Oh, you do, huh?”
    “Or not about, as the case may be.”
    D’or shifted irritably. “Meaning?”
    “Well, she’s not talking about being a lesbian, is she?”
    “She