Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

glanced around and tried to change the subject. “Do you think maybe Booter …?”
    “You look just perfect together.”
    Michael shrugged.
    “Just for the record, I have a marvelous little solemnization ceremony.”
    “What?”
    “It’s not a marriage, mind you. The Holy Father will have none of that. But it’s a blessing of sorts, and it’s very sweet.”
    “Father.”
    “All right. I’ll shut up. Forget I mentioned it.”
    “It’s a deal,” said Michael.
    “I’ve never done one, and I’ve always wanted to. But …” His hand made several wistful loops in the air.
    “He’s going back to Charleston,” said Michael.
    “Very well.”
    “And we’re both very independent.”
    “Mmm.”
    “Plus, you forget … I’m not even Catholic.”
    “Oh, really,” said Father Paddy. “Picky, picky!”
    Later, when they’d retreated to a bench above Lost Angels, Thack asked: “What do we do now? He’s obviously not here.”
    “It’s impossible to tell,” said Michael. “There are so many camps.”
    “Yeah, but we could spend all night looking.”
    “I guess we should call Wren.”
    “You think something’s happened to him?” Thack asked. “I mean, like … foul play?”
    “Not really.”
    “I don’t, either.”
    “I think Wren’s overreacting.”
    “Yeah,” said Thack.
    They were quiet for a moment, then Thack asked. “What were those eye signals all about?”
    “What eye signals?”
    “You know. Down there. Between you and Sister Bertrille.”
    “Oh.” Michael rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
    “Try me.”
    “He’s matchmaking.”
    Thack gave him a blank look.
    “He offered to marry us.” Michael widened his eyes to emphasize the frivolous nature of the idea.
    “What?”
    “To perform the ceremony,” said Michael. “Cute, huh?”
    Thack frowned a little. “Where did he get that idea?”
    “Beats me. He just liked the way we looked together.”
    Silence.
    “I told him we were buddies. That you didn’t even live here.”
    “Here” wasn’t right somehow, considering their location. Softened by woodsmoke, the tiny tent villages beneath them seemed more dreamlike than ever. It was hard to imagine anyone living here.
    “Fuck him,” said Thack. “Who needs the church for that?”
    His vehemence was a little surprising. “Are you Catholic?” Michael asked.
    “Ex. I belonged to Dignity for a while, but I quit.”
    “Why?”
    Thack shrugged. “Why should I keep kissing the Pope’s ass when he doesn’t even approve of mine? I don’t call that dignity. I call it masochism.” He smiled suddenly. “I’ve got a great idea.”
    “What?”
    “Wait here.” He shook Michael’s leg and ran off down the trail, darting into the undergrowth near the lights of Lost Angels. He returned five minutes later, dragging a twin-sized mattress behind him.
    “Where did you get that?”
    “One of the cabins,” said Thack.
    Michael frowned.
    “An empty one. We’ll return it.”
    “Yeah, but what if …?”
    “C’mon,” said Thack.
    Michael followed him up a slope through a tangle of pesky undergrowth. When they reached a ledge about twenty feet above the path, Thack dropped the mattress.
    “I wonder if we should be paranoid?” said Michael.
    “That’s easy,” said Thack. “We shouldn’t.”
    “Yeah, but we don’t really know how private …”
    “Look, we can see the path from here. They’re too old and drunk to make it up this far.” He sat down on the mattress and dug into his shirt pocket, removing a joint and a matchbook.
    “Where did you get that?” Michael asked, sitting next to him.
    Thack lit the joint. “Wren. Our reward.” He toked a couple of times and offered it to Michael.
    “No, thanks…. Oh, to hell with it.” He took the joint and filled his lungs with the stuff. He’d been careful all year. Tonight, his immune system could just go fuck itself.
    “Listen,” said Thack. “ ‘The Trail of the Lonesome Pine.’ ”
    “How wonderful.” Michael tilted his head to hear pianos and banjos rambling through the old tune.
    “That was Gertrude Stein’s favorite song,” said Thack.
    “It was?”
    “I think so.”
    Michael returned the joint. “Where’d you hear that?”
    “I don’t remember, really.”
    “It’s a great song,” said Michael.
    Thack stretched out, arching his ivory neck. “Look at that fucking moon. Is that beautiful or what?”
    It was full and fluorescent, a real troublemaker. Michael