Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

told her, resigning himself to another half mile on foot.
    “You got it,” she said, unscrewing the top on the whiskey.
    They thundered down the deserted road in silence, civil strangers sharing only a time and a place. He did his damnedest not to notice their speed, which was considerable, or Mabel’s expression, which was just this side of maniacal.
    “You voted for Reagan?” he asked eventually.
    “Damn straight.”
    “Then … you’re a conservative?”
    “Always have been. Hate welfare, hate communism, hate all that stuff.”
    It made no sense to him. “But … that place?”
    “What?” she asked. “Wimminwood?”
    “Yes. It’s … leftist, isn’t it?”
    She shrugged. “Mostly.”
    “Why do you go?”
    Mabel gave a little snort. “That’s easy. Pussy.”
    He was almost certain he had heard wrong until she began to guffaw exuberantly, slapping the dashboard with her flattened palm. When she turned to see his reaction, she lost control of the wheel, and he heard the sickening clatter of gravel as the RV slipped onto the shoulder.
    “Watch out!” he hollered.
    Her reaction wasn’t nearly quick enough. The RV leapt a narrow ditch, then ripped through a curtain of brambles, plummeting willy-nilly into the darkness.
    His hands shot to the dashboard. He gritted his teeth as she slammed on the brakes and the RV skidded to a stop in the underbrush.
    “Good God,” he murmured.
    “Holy shit,” said Mabel.
    The RV was tilting dramatically, its two right wheels lower than the left.
    “You O.K.?” she asked.
    “Yes … I’m O.K.” If she had been his wife, he would have yelled at her, but she was his rescuer, and a man doesn’t yell at his rescuer.
    She climbed down from the RV and inspected the damage. “It’s gonna take Three-A,” she said, returning. “Sonofabitch.” She shook her head slowly, obviously annoyed with herself. “That’s what I get for thinking about pussy.”
    He took the whiskey from the dashboard and offered it to her. Mabel accepted with a weary grunt, unscrewing the cap. “Ever have one of those days?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he answered dryly, feebly. “Yes, I have.”
    She blinked at him with red-rimmed eyes and began to chuckle. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said, and took a swig of the whiskey, smacking appreciatively. Then she gave it back to him.
    This time he tipped the bottle like a seasoned wino. “You on vacation?” she asked.
    He nodded. “Supposedly.”
    “Yeah. Me too.”
    “Where are you from?” he asked.
    “Tacoma,” she said.
    “Ah.” There wasn’t much he could say about Tacoma. He’d never even been there.
    Mabel filled the silence by taking another nip from the bottle. When she had finished, she said: “Well, better get our tails in gear. There’s a phone down at Duncans Mills. It’s not all that far. You can wait here.” She slapped the dashboard. “Keep an eye on the ol’ girl.”
    Booter heard her, but just barely. His glazed eyes drifted toward the moon, which was dangling like an off-kilter ornament in the broken branches above the windshield. The night was uncannily still. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so alone with someone.
    “You O.K.?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he answered quietly.
    She regarded him for a moment, then said: “That’s Venus. The big, shiny one under the moon. The Greeks called it Lucifer in the daytime and Hesperus at night.”
    This odd footnote, imparted tersely and without provocation, reminded him instantly of someone else. Even the light in her eyes was right, the half-mad, tutorial glint which awaited his response like a child who had just told a favorite joke.
    “You know much about that stuff?” he asked.
    She squared her jaw in an eerily familiar fashion. “Nah. I watch that guy … whatshisname … the billions-and-billions man.”
    He nodded. “I know who you mean.”
    “Why the hell are you doin’ that?”
    “What?”
    “Lookin’ at me funny.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “You reminded me of somebody. Just briefly.”
    “Who?”
    “It’s ridiculous. Somebody who knows a lot about … outdoor things. Knew, that is.” He was embarrassed now; she was bound to take it the wrong way. “It’s not a physical resemblance. He just enjoyed … explaining things.”
    Her brow wrinkled. “He’s dead now?”
    “Yes,” he answered vacantly, feeling oddly relieved to be able to say it. “Last night.”
    She scratched her arm, staring at him.
    “He was my best