Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

“For your help the other night.”
    The boy said nothing, shrugging a little.
    “You were very brave, and I appreciate it.”
    Edgar scratched the side of his neck. “How did you get away?”
    Booter decided not to elaborate. “Someone else came along,” he said.
    Anna yelled to the boy from the lawn. “Edgurr … hurry up.”
    Booter looked at the little girl, then asked: “Did you tell her about it?”
    “No,” said Edgar.
    “Your mother?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?” asked Booter.
    “They’re girls,” said Edgar.
    Booter smiled at him and tousled his dark corn-silk hair. “Atta-boy.”
    “Edgurr,” screamed Anna.
    “I gotta go,” said the boy.
    “I thought,” said Booter, “maybe we could do something next weekend. Just the two of us. Go to the museum … look for dinosaurs?”
    The boy hesitated.
    “We men gotta stick together, right?”
    “I guess so,” said Edgar.
    “Edgurr, I am leaving right this very minute!”
    “Better run,” said Booter, smiling.
    “She’s a pain,” said Edgar.
    “Well, hang in there. Oh … tell me the answer.”
    “What answer?”
    “You know. What’s blue and creamy?”
    “Tell you later,” said Edgar, running back to his sister.

Forgotten Lady
    T HE WAKE WAS TO HAPPEN IN A HOUSE SOMEWHERE IN the Richmond district. They drove there in Charlie’s Fairlane, so Michael kept his eyes peeled for parking places as soon as they crossed Park Presidio. “There’s one!” he called when they were still three or four blocks away.
    “Fuck that,” said Charlie.
    “We’re not gonna get any better,” said Michael.
    Charlie tapped the dashboard, indicating a card imprinted with a wheelchair. “Handicap parking,” he said.
    “Hey,” said Michael. “Perks of the eighties.”
    “Right,” said Charlie. “Win a parking place and die.”
    Most of the other celebrants had come directly from the inurnment at the Neptune Society Columbarium. Michael couldn’t help feeling a little fraudulent, like a bum on the sidewalk talking Chekhov with an intermission audience.
    “I don’t know a soul,” he whispered, as they circled the dessert table.
    “No one’s eating my pie,” said Charlie, frowning.
    “Here.” Michael held out his paper plate. “I’ll take a slice.”
    “No. Not unless you mean it.”
    Michael laughed. “Give me a goddamn slice.”
    Charlie gave him one. “That Key lime pie is half gone, and look at the color of it. It’s practically Day-Glo.”
    “Well,” said Michael, “it’s sort of a postmodern crowd.” He took a mouthful of Charlie’s gooey-rich pecan pie, enjoying its slow descent. “I never know how to act at these things,” he said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know. Whether to laugh or not.”
    Charlie shrugged. “It’s a celebration. That’s what they called it.”
    “I know, but some of these people feel awful right now.”
    “You’d better laugh at mine,” said Charlie.
    “Right.”
    “I’ve fixed it so you will, actually. I drew up the plans while you were gone. I won’t spoil it for you, but it involves several hundred yards of mock leopardskin and an Ann-Margret impersonator.”
    Michael licked the sweetness off his fingers. “Why not just plain Ann-Margret?”
    “Well, she’s optional, of course. Use your discretion.”
    “Who’s optional?” It was Teddy Roughton, funereally attired in black jeans, white shirt, and black leather bow tie. He slipped his arm around Michael’s waist and surveyed the raspberry tarts.
    “It’s a long story,” said Michael. “Teddy, this is Charlie. Charlie, Teddy.”
    “We’ve met,” said Teddy, extending his hand. “At the Ringold Alley AIDS do.”
    “Oh, yes … of course.” Charlie’s tone became ingratiating, Michael noticed, as soon as he remembered that Teddy was three parts Vanity Fair to one part Drummer. Charlie was impressed by titles.
    “Meanwhile,” said Teddy, rolling his eyes as he drew out the word, “our laddie here has broken the heart of another unsuspecting tourist.”
    “What laddie?” asked Charlie, confused.
    “This one,” said Teddy, giving Michael a shake.
    “Me?” said Michael. “What did he say?”
    Charlie frowned. “What did who say?”
    “He was bereft,” said Teddy, oblivious of Charlie’s question. “Said he was mad for you, but you weren’t mad for him.”
    “Come off it,” said Michael, convinced of a hoax.
    “Is this Thack?” asked Charlie.
    “Teddy drove him to the airport,” Michael