Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

chuckled.
    “Have they had a fight or something?”
    “I don’t think they’re together enough for that. She’s always out somewhere.”
    “She’s a public figure,” said Michael, resenting the way Thack always sided with Brian. “She can’t help it if people want her to do things.”
    “But she loves it.”
    “Well, what if she does? She should enjoy it. She’s worked hard enough for it.”
    “I’m just telling what he said.”
    “He can be a real slug, you know. He’s a helluva sweet guy, but..”
    “What does that mean—slug?”
    “He gets stuck in ruts. He likes ruts. That’s why he likes the nursery so much. It doesn’t challenge him any more than he wants it to. He can just coast along…”
    “I thought you said…”
    “I don’t mean he isn’t doing a good job. I just meant he isn’t as ambitious as she is. I can see how it might be kind of a drag for her.”
    “I thought you guys got along great.”
    “We do. Stop changing the subject.”
    “Which is?”
    “The fact that…” He stopped, not really sure what the subject was.
    Realizing this, Thack smiled. “Did you see her show today? Dead dogs.”
    “Yes.”
    “Was that lower than Geraldo or what?”
    “I thought it was funny, actually. Besides, she can’t help what her producers decide…”
    “I know. She can’t help anything.”
    Michael gave him a sullen look and let the subject drop. In the long run, Thack was too much of a newcomer to fully grasp the nature of Mary Ann’s personality. You had to have known her years ago to understand the way she was today.
    Somehow, in spite of the immense changes in their lives, Michael continued to see them all as perennial singles—he and Brian and Mary Ann—still chasing their overblown dreams, still licking their wounds back at Barbary Lane.
    But he had been gone for two years; Mary Ann and Brian, even longer. His employee, Polly Berendt, occupied his old digs on the second floor, and the rest of the house was inhabited by people whose names he hardly knew. Except for Mrs. Madrigal, of course, who seemed constant as the ivy.
    He had seen the landlady just that morning, poking among the fruit stands at a sidewalk market in Chinatown. She had hugged him exuberantly and invited him and Thack to dinner the next day. He had felt a twinge of guilt, realizing how long he’d neglected her.
    He mentioned this to Thack, who shared his concern.
    “We’ll take her some sherry,” he said.

    Now they lay on the sofa—Michael’s back against Thack’s chest, Harry at their feet—watching Kramer vs . Kramer after dinner. It was a network broadcast, and the censors had doctored the scene in which Dustin Hoffman and his young son are heard, one after the other, taking their morning pee.
    “Can you believe that?” Thack fumed. “They cut out the sound of the pee! Those fuckers!”
    Michael smiled sleepily. “Must not be in keeping with Family Values.”
    “Damn, that pisses me off!”
    He chuckled. “So to speak.”
    “Well, dammit, that was a sweet scene. You can’t even tell what’s happening now. It’s not funny anymore.”
    “You’re right,” said Michael.
    “Fuckin’ Reagan.”
    “Well…he’s almost gone.”
    “Yeah, and his asshole buddy will be running things.”
    “Maybe not.”
    “You watch. Things are gonna get worse before they get better.”
    Thack gestured toward the TV. “You wanna watch this?”
    “Nah.”
    “Where’s the clicker?”
    Michael ran his hand between the corduroy cushions until he found the remote control, one of three at their command. (He had no idea what the other ones did.) Poking it, he watched the screen crackle into black, then turned over and laid his head against Thack’s chest. He sighed at the fit they made, the sheer inevitability of this moment in their day.
    Thack stroked Michael’s hair and said: “I picked up more vacuum cleaner bags.”
    “Good.” He patted Thack’s leg.
    “I’m not sure they’re the right ones. I got confused about our model.”
    “Fuck it.”
    Thack chuckled. “You know what I’ve been thinking?”
    “What?”
    “We should just go to an ACT-UP meeting. I mean, just stop by to see what it’s like.”
    Somehow, Michael had been expecting this. Thack’s advocacy had been bubbling like a broth all week, close to overflowing. If it hadn’t taken this form, it would have almost certainly taken another. An irate letter to the Chronicle, maybe, or a shouting match with a Muni