Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

river with his bag of clothes. When he was knee-deep, he turned and spoke to Wren. “Wish us luck.”
    “More like a bon voyage.” She laughed. “Shall I break some champagne across your bow?”
    Michael followed Thack into the water, which was warmer than he expected, but his skin pebbled anyway. The silt of the river bottom oozed up between his toes. “If we’re not back by sunup,” he said, “send in the Mounties.”
    “Ha!” said Wren. “Think I’d trust you with a Mountie?”
    “Keep your voices down,” said Thack.
    Wren clamped her hand to her mouth, then came to the water’s edge and whispered: “I’ll be waiting for your call. You have the number, don’t you?”
    “No,” Michael replied.
    “I do,” said Thack.
    Michael looked at him and said: “God, you’re organized. I bet you alphabetize your albums.”
    “Wait,” said Wren. “I forgot.” She poked through the high grass until she found the terry-cloth towels she’d brought, then handed them to Michael, who stuffed them into his Hefty bag.
    “You’re such a doll to do this,” she said.
    He shrugged. “Life’s been boring lately.”
    “It’s Hillbillies,” she said. “Don’t forget.”
    “I won’t.” He waded out to join Thack again. They commenced a sort of tortured sidestroke, dragging their bags beside them. When they reached midriver, puffing like steamboats, they looked at each other and burst into laughter.
    Wren was still watching from the shore, a dead giveaway in her white Bermudas.

A Debutante Reason
    R ECLINING TOPLESS ON HER COT, POLLY BERENDT folded her hands behind her head and said: “Something weird is happening down in chem-free.”
    Also topless, but sitting on the ground, DeDe asked: “What do you mean?”
    “Well, when I went out to pee, I saw this huge huddle of those black-shirt girls. I mean, more than I’ve ever seen in one place. They clammed up when I walked by, like I’d just walked in on a cabinet meeting or something.”
    “I don’t even wanna know,” said DeDe. She was finished with Security and their nasty little intrigues.
    Polly chuckled. “They probably found somebody with a Stevie Wonder tape.”
    DeDe didn’t get it. “What’s the matter with Stevie Wonder?”
    “What else?” said Polly. “He’s male.”
    “C’mon.”
    “Sure. It’s a violation of women-only space. No records with male singers. Read your regulations.” Polly rolled over, propping her head on her elbow. “You know what I want?”
    “What?”
    “A burger. With lots of cheese and pickles and blood pouring out of it….”
    “Yuck,” said DeDe.
    “Well, it beats the hell outa this place,” said Polly. “Did you try that phony meat tonight?”
    DeDe smiled grimly. “Sloppy Josephines.”
    “When are these girls gonna drag their asses out of the sixties? That’s what I wanna know.”
    DeDe turned and gave her a big-sisterly smile. A lucky combination of sunshine and lantern light had turned Polly’s taut little tummy the color of the rivets on her 501’s. DeDe observed this effect with appreciation but without passion, like an art-conscious matron perusing a Rembrandt.
    And she was a matron, compared to this kid.
    “You don’t remember Kennedy, do you?”
    Polly rolled her eyes. “They always, always ask that.”
    “Well, excuse me.”
    “Why was he such a big deal, anyway? He made it with Marilyn Monroe. Big deal. Ask me if I remember the first moon landing.”
    “O.K…. Do you?”
    “No.”
    DeDe groaned and threw a sweat sock at her. “You little turd.”
    Polly cackled triumphantly. She reminded DeDe of Edgar somehow. After he’d dropped a worm down Anna’s back.
    “The thing about the sixties,” said DeDe, feeling older by the minute, “is that it wasn’t so much a time as it was … a transformational experience. Some people did it then. Others waited until later.”
    “Like, wow,” said Polly, mugging shamelessly. “Heavy.”
    “Fuck you,” said DeDe.
    Polly smiled at her. “So when did you transform?”
    DeDe thought about it, then said: “The spring of nineteen seventy-seven.”
    “So specific?”
    “I joined the People’s Temple. In Guyana.”
    Polly looked stunned. “Jesus,” she said.
    “We got out, of course … before … all that.”
    “You and your lover?”
    “Mmm. And the kids.”
    “They must’ve been babies,” said Polly.
    “They were. They don’t remember anything.”
    There was a long silence. Then Polly said: “Why did you