Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

shouldn’t worry about that until … God, Brian, worry about yourself. That’s who I’m worried about.”
    He felt himself unraveling. “Look … I’m really sorry. I should go.”
    “Oh, no,” she said. “No way. That’s hit and run, buster.”
    “I’m sorry if …”
    “Come here,” she said.
    “What?”
    “C’mon. Haul that cute ass over here.” She patted the cushion next to her on the sofa.
    He hesitated, then obeyed her.
    She put her arm around him, easing him down until his head reached the expansive softness of her chest. “There,” she said, stroking his hair. “Now just shut up for a minute.”
    When his tears surfaced, she began to rock him gently, humming a tune he couldn’t quite place.

D’or Confesses
    P ICTIONARY PRACTICE HAD OCCUPIED DEDE AND POLLY for almost an hour. DeDe had performed like a champ until Polly sketched a standing figure, with another figure stretched out on a table. DeDe had tried “doctor,” “mortician,” and “masseuse,” to no avail.
    “C’mon,” said Polly.
    “What else is there?” asked DeDe.
    Polly groaned and drew a huge penis on the standing figure.
    “Masseur!” DeDe shouted. “Yes!”
    They shrieked in unison.
    DeDe said: “Call Kate and Trudy. I’m ready for the playoffs!”
    They were still giggling maniacally when DeDe heard footsteps advancing through the madrone trees. The gait was unmistakably D’or’s.
    DeDe made herself wait for a count of ten, then turned and said, “Oh, hi,” as casually as possible.
    “Hi,” echoed D’or. Her voice was flat as day-old Diet Pepsi.
    “You’ve met Polly Berendt, haven’t you?”
    D’or shook her head. “Not officially.” She nodded in Polly’s direction but didn’t extend her hand.
    “I was just leaving,” said Polly.
    “No,” said DeDe. “Stay. We’ll make some cocoa.” She turned back to D’or. “How was the Holly Near concert?”
    “I didn’t go,” said D’or, stonier than ever.
    Polly rose and slapped the seat of her jeans, knocking off the sand. “Past my bedtime,” she said.
    This time DeDe didn’t bother to protest. “Thanks for the evening,” she said feebly.
    “No sweat,” Polly replied, heading off into the dark.
    D’or sat down on the sand, but didn’t speak until Polly’s footsteps had died out. “Sorry,” she said grimly, “if I interrupted something.”
    “You’re one to talk,” said DeDe.
    D’or stared out at the water for a while. Then she said: “I stopped off and saw Edgar.”
    “How was he?”
    “Fine. He really likes it there.”
    “I know,” said DeDe.
    “He told me I couldn’t come in. Said it was men-only space.” D’or smiled at this, obviously trying to break the ice.
    DeDe refused to thaw.
    “They have their own hierarchy already. Little lieutenants running around. It’s really funny.”
    DeDe grunted.
    D’or turned and looked at her. “You wanna leave tomorrow?”
    “I’m planning to.”
    “Good. I think it’s time.” She looked around. “Where’s Anna?”
    “Asleep,” said DeDe.
    D’or untied the laces on one of her sneakers, tightened and retied them. “Why are you doing this?”
    “Doing what?”
    “You know.”
    DeDe resisted a sudden urge to slap her. Why was she, DeDe, always the one whose behavior required explanation?
    D’or added: “She’s gone. If that’s what’s bothering you.”
    “She?” asked DeDe. There was no point in making it easy for her.
    “Sabra.”
    DeDe muttered.
    “You were right about her. She’s a big phony.”
    It took some effort to conceal her relief. “How did you come to this brilliant conclusion?”
    “I just saw,” said D’or.
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “She was looking to get laid.”
    “Well … did she?”
    D’or hesitated, then nodded.
    “I see,” said DeDe. “And then she left?”
    Another nod.
    “Just … wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.”
    D’or played with the sand under her legs. “Laugh all you want. I deserve it.”
    DeDe kept quiet.
    Her lover looked truly pathetic. “For what it’s worth, I really did think it was my mind she admired. I thought she respected my input.”
    Two minutes earlier, DeDe could have fired off a pithy rejoinder to that one. “Well,” she said instead. “Maybe she really did.”
    D’or shook her head. “It was like … shut-up-and-lie-down time.”
    DeDe abandoned the role of hurt child and assumed the mantle of mother confessor. “I knew she was a shitheel,” she said.
    “I couldn’t believe it,”