Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

stopped suddenly and looked at Polly. “Yes I do. My lover is messing around with Sabra Landauer.”
    Polly blinked, then emitted a long, low whistle. “You know that?”
    “I suspect it.”
    “Well, that’s different.”
    “She’d like to,” said DeDe. “I can tell you that.”
    “Who wouldn’t? Sabra gets more offers than Rita Mae Brown.”
    DeDe glowered at her. “If you think you’re being comforting, Polly …”
    “All I know is, this wife swapping isn’t fair. If you’re gonna have an affair, have it with a single girl. That’s what we’re here for.”
    DeDe thought for a moment. “Does Sabra have a lover?”
    “She did,” said Polly. “She dumped her last month.”
    “Great,” said DeDe numbly.
    They began walking again. When they passed a stern sentry brandishing a walkie-talkie and a nightstick, Polly tugged on DeDe’s arm. “See what I mean?” she whispered. “The troops are on Red Alert.”

Jimmy’s Big Entrance
    T HIS YEAR, JIMMY CHAPPELL WAS TO PLAY A SISTER OF Mercy in the Grove Play, an epic called “Solferino,” about the founding of the Red Cross. Another adventure in tedium, no doubt, but Booter showed up anyway, to keep peace with his old friend. Ten minutes before curtain time, he scaled the slope of the great outdoor stage and found Jimmy waiting in “the wings”—a bark-covered screen disguised as a redwood tree.
    “Christ,” said Booter. “I hope you look better from down there.”
    Jimmy’s wig and nurse’s cap, a single macabre unit, were hanging next to him on a nail. His few strands of real hair were matted and sweaty, and his white uniform was already streaked with makeup. “It’s all illusion,” said Jimmy.
    “It better be,” said Booter. “What’s your first scene?”
    “Well … I call for more tourniquets.”
    “Is that all?”
    Jimmy looked annoyed. “It’s a speech, Booter. It’s an important moment.”
    “I’m sure it is.”
    Jimmy plucked a cigaret from the pocket of his uniform and lit it with his lighter. He took a long drag, then said: “It gets more substantive later on.”
    “What happens then?”
    Jimmy smiled a little and tapped his cigaret. “I call for more plasma.”
    Booter chuckled.
    “It’s not my finest role,” said Jimmy.
    “What the hell,” said Booter.
    “I don’t care. It’s theater.” Jimmy gazed down on his fellow Bohemians, filing in to the log benches. “God, I love it.” He cast a pensive glance in Booter’s direction. “What the hell am I doing in real estate?”
    “Making a damn good living,” said Booter.
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    A stage manager rushed past them with an armful of prop rifles. “Places, Jimmy. Two minutes.”
    “O.K.,” said Jimmy.
    “I’d better hightail it,” said Booter.
    “Where are you sitting?”
    “Toward the back. With Buck Vickers and the rest of that gang.”
    “Well … stay if you want.”
    “Here?”
    “Sure. Keep me company. I sit right here most of the time.”
    “Won’t they throw me out?”
    Jimmy made a stern face. “I’ll raise hell if they do. I might not be the star of this extravaganza …”
    Booter laughed. “You get a pretty good view up here.” He peered through a fist-sized hole in the bark screen. Below, a lilliputian stagehand scurried across the main stage, scattering bloodied bandages in preparation for battle. The audience in the redwood amphitheater spoke with a single voice, whiskey-charged and jovial.
    The lights dimmed suddenly. The audience fell silent as the orchestra plunged into the overture.
    “Too late now,” said Jimmy. “You’re stuck with me.”
    “What the hell,” said Booter. As a matter of fact, he rather liked the idea of staying here in Jimmy’s lair—like a couple of schoolboys playing hooky in a secret tree house.
    Jimmy snatched his nurse wig off the nail and plopped it onto his head. Squatting a little, he faced a triangle of broken mirror and made final adjustments. His face exuded the humorless concentration of a man devoted to his craft. He gave Booter a thumbs-up sign, then marched into the public eye, his jaw set with the now-or-never determination of a paratrooper.
    A blue spotlight followed him as he descended the long switchback trail to the main stage. A fifty-voice chorus sang about the rigors of war, the nobility of dying. After two or three minutes of this, Jimmy confronted Hubert Watkins (who was dressed as a general) and recited a list of casualties, making a desperate but