Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

a revelation.
    The phone rang. “There they are,” she said, setting her glass on the counter, heading into the living room.
    “This better be you,” she said.
    “It is,” said Michael. “Are we that late?”
    “No. Never mind. Did you find him?”
    “No. Not a sign.”
    She heaved a sigh. “Did they say if he’d gone home?”
    “We asked at the gate,” said Michael. “He hasn’t checked out yet.”
    “He must be there, then.”
    “I guess so, but the place is like a small city.”
    She nibbled on a nail. “It just doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he call me?”
    “You got me,” said Michael. “I don’t know the man.”
    But I do, she thought, and something is horribly wrong. She imagined him lying dead somewhere in the dark, victim of a heart attack. Or suicide. His last phone call, after all, had been inexplicably forlorn, tinged with desperation.
    “You tried his camp?” she asked.
    “Yeah. And a bunch of the others. Nobody’s seen him since this morning, when he went to a memorial service.”
    “Somebody died?”
    “A friend of his,” said Michael. “You think that’s got something to do with it?”
    “God … I dunno.”
    He waited, then said: “What do you want us to do?”
    “Are you at the greasy spoon?”
    “No. We’re still in the Grove.”
    “Are you swimming back?” She was teasing, of course.
    “Oh, please. Nothing but the gate this time. We’re practically members.”
    “They like you, huh?”
    Michael chuckled. “Thack got cruised by a priest.”
    She heard Thack laughing in the background. “I’ll bet he did,” she said.
    “People keep pouring us drinks, inviting us in. It’s amazing what just having a dick can do for you.”
    “Tell me,” she said. “I haven’t had one lately.”
    Another chuckle. “Poor thing.”
    “Never mind. I can cope.”
    “You’ll be home to Rolando in no time.”
    That threw her. “How do you know about him?”
    “You talked about him,” he answered. “On the air. Mary Ann’s show.”
    “Oh, yeah. A girl’s got no secrets.”
    He laughed. “Not when the girl sells them.”
    “Fuck you,” she said. “I’ll meet you in half an hour at the greasy spoon.”
    “Fine,” he said. “Is Brian with you?”
    “None of your business,” she replied, and hung up.
    “Who died?” asked Brian.
    “Died? Oh … a friend of Booter’s.”
    He frowned, taking it personally.
    “I’m not gonna worry about it,” she said. “I’ve worried enough.”
    On the way into Monte Rio, Brian said: “You’re flying out tomorrow?”
    She nodded, pulling on the wheel. They were rounding a treacherous curve, drastically eroded on one side, obscured on the other by an almost perpendicular slope of dusty ferns. She knew it well, this curve. She had been here long enough for it to seem grimly familiar.
    “I’m leaving,” she said. “Come hell or high water.”
    He stared out the window for a moment, then asked: “Would you like company tonight?”
    She turned and smiled at him.
    “Just to cuddle,” he said. “I really don’t feel like …”
    “I know. Shut up. Give me credit for a little versatility.”
    His eyes turned back to the road. “What about … you know … Booter?”
    “What about him?” she asked.
    “Well … if he comes back tonight.”
    She chuckled. “He doesn’t sleep with me, sweetie.”
    “Oh.”
    “I’m just his afternoon delight. He sleeps with his buddies. Back at the Grove.”
    “I see.”
    “I’m just pleasure. The Grove is his passion.” The road became asphalt finally, and there were random yellow porch lights to lead the way. “What about you?” she asked. “What are your passions?”
    He seemed to think it was a trick question.
    “What do you do?” she asked. “I know what your wife does, of course….”
    He looked more stricken than before.
    “Sorry,” she said. “That was grossly un-Californian of me.”
    “No,” he said finally, “it’s O.K. I take care of our daughter. I manage the house.”
    “Well, that’s a lot.” It sounded patronizing, she realized, and it was. The man thinks he’s dying, so she reminds him he has no purpose in life.
    “It’s not a lot,” he said quietly.
    “Raising a child? Are you kidding?”
    “It’s not enough.” He gazed out at the lights of Monte Rio. “It’s not … a manhood thing with me. It just isn’t enough. It used to be all I ever wanted … having a kid, being a husband.” He turned and looked at her. “I was a