Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

said, beaming proudly. “You can park on the right there,” he told the driver. “The rest is on foot.” He turned back to her and added: “That big high-rise above us is where Brian lives.”
    “I can’t look up,” she muttered. “Or down. I’ll blow lunch.”
    The driver parked on the right, using the emergency brake. Michael and Thack hastily assembled their stuff. Then Thack began collecting empty juice bottles in a paper bag. “Leave it,” she told him. “That’s part of the fun.”
    “He’s compulsive,” said Michael.
    Thack gave them both a hooded glance and continued to gather trash.
    “Just what you need,” Wren told Michael.
    This minimal shot at matchmaking seemed to embarrass Michael, so she thrust her hand into his and added: “It’s been great.”
    “Same here,” he said. “I can’t believe I met you.”
    “Brian has my number,” she said, wondering if he’d guess the reason.
    Michael nodded.
    “Take care of him,” she said.
    “I will,” he replied, without meeting her eyes.
    She turned and took Thack’s hand. “Give my love to Charleston.”
    “O.K.,” said Thack. “Thanks for the joyride.” He climbed out and waited on the curb.
    Michael regarded her for a moment, then gave her a quick peck on the cheek and bounded out of the limo. She watched as he and Thack crossed the street and began to ascend the ramshackle wooden stairway he had indicated. In the dry grass next to its base stood an off-kilter street sign bearing the word BARBARY.
    “Is that safe?” she hollered, when they reached the first landing.
    He cupped his hands and yelled back at her: “What the hell is?”
    She was still smiling when he vanished into the dusty trees at the top of the stairs.
    Her driver turned and said: “The airport, Miss Douglas?”
    “Yeah,” she replied. “Time to go home.”

Prisoner of Love
    W HEN THEY REACHED THE COURTYARD AT NUMBER 28, Michael found Mrs. Madrigal watering her parched garden. The rigors of the heat wave had forced her into an old gingham sundress, which seemed far too Miss Marpleish for her particular brand of rawboned grace.
    “How was it?” she called, as they came through the lych-gate.
    “Terrific,” said Thack.
    She shut off the spray, dropped the hose, and tended to the stray wisps at her temples. “It’s been dreadful here, absolutely murderous. In the eighties every day.”
    “You’re spoiled,” said Thack.
    She gave him a surprisingly coquettish glance and patted her hair again. “Nevertheless,” she said.
    “The garden looks gorgeous,” Michael told her.
    “It’s getting there. Did Brian come back with you?” There was a purposeful glint in her eye which belied her breezy delivery.
    “No,” said Michael. “We bummed a ride with somebody else. He came home in my car.”
    “I see,” said the landlady.
    “Why?”
    “Oh … well … Mary Ann asked.”
    Michael wondered how much Mrs. Madrigal knew. “He should be home soon,” he said as blandly as possible.
    She fixed her huge Wedgwood eyes on him. “He hasn’t called her,” she said. “He’s been very naughty.”
    He made a helpless gesture. “What can I tell you?”
    She looked at him a moment longer, then swooped down to pick up her gardening gloves. When she was upright again, she turned her attention to Thack. “Michael’s showing you the sights, is he?”
    “Oh, yes,” answered Thack.
    “Do you like it here?”
    “Very much.”
    “I’m so glad. How much longer will we have the pleasure of your company?”
    “Well,” said Thack, “till tonight, I guess. My flight’s tonight.”
    This was news to Michael, but he didn’t look at Thack for fear of betraying his emotions. Mrs. Madrigal, he imagined, already saw the distress in his face, sensed the enormity of the cloud settling over him.
    Up in his bedroom, after they had both showered and changed into clean sweats, Michael said: “What time is your flight?”
    “Six-fifteen,” Thack replied.
    Michael went to the window and looked out. “I thought it was tomorrow, for some reason.” His eyes fixed vacantly on Alcatraz, the cause of this pain, the scene of the crime. “I had sort of pictured us sleeping here.”
    Thack hesitated, then said: “It’s a nice thought.”
    “But?” he asked, pushing the issue in spite of his better instincts.
    Thack came up behind him, enfolding him in his arms. “They’re expecting me at Middleton Plantation bright and early Tuesday morning.”
    “What for?”