Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

again. After several months’ absence, he hated showing up at Mrs. Madrigal’s house without some reassuring talisman of his affection. Gazing up the impossible slope of Leavenworth, he mused aloud. “There’s a mom and pop up at the top there.”
    “Forget it,” said his lover. “We can send her some flowers tomorrow.”
    “Will you help me remember?”
    “Of course,” said Thack.
    When they reached the eucalyptus grove at the top of the steps, a cat shot past them on the path, flashing its tail like a broadsword. Michael called to it seductively, but the creature merely spat at them and bounded off into the mist.
    “Carpetbagger,” he yelled after it.
    Thack gave him a funny look.
    “He’s from there,” Michael explained, gesturing toward the new condo complex at the head of the lane. It was pale green and postmodern, with security gates and sunken garbage cans and buzzers you could hear for miles. Most of the eucalyptus grove had been sacrificed to make room for it.
    Beyond the complex, where the path narrowed and the shrubbery grew wild, lay the real Barbary Lane, a dwindling Bohemia of shingled lodges and garbage cans that weren’t ashamed to stand up and be counted. As they opened the lych-gate at Number 28, the smell of pot roast wafted across the courtyard from the landlady’s kitchen window.
    When she buzzed them into her inner sanctum, the place reassured Michael with its constancy—that familiar, immutable hodgepodge of dusty books and dustier velvet. She greeted them effusively in a plum-colored kimono, a pair of ivory chopsticks thrust into the silvery tangle of her hair.
    “Are you smoking?” she asked Michael.
    He pretended to examine his extremities. “I dunno, am I?”
    “Now you mustn’t make fun of my only sacrament.” She thrust a plate of joints into Thack’s hands. “Here, dear. You corrupt him. My biscuits are burning.” She spun on her heels and sailed back to the kitchen, all fluttering silk.
    Thack smiled at the histrionic exit, then offered the plate to Michael.
    Michael relented after only a moment’s hesitation. This was a special occasion, after all.

    When the landlady returned, he and Thack were both thoroughly buzzed, deep in the embrace of her worn-shiny dam-ask sofa.
    “Well,” she said, taking the armchair, “I have some rather exciting news.”
    “Really?” said Thack.
    She beamed at them both, one at a time, heightening the suspense. “I’m going away,” she said.
    Michael felt an unexpected stab of anxiety. Going away ? Moving away ?
    His distress must have been evident, for she made a hasty amendment. “Just for a month or so.”
    “A vacation, you mean?” Thack looked just as amazed.
    She answered with a wide-eyed nod, her hands clasping her knees. Apparently she was amazed too. Up to now she’d been the world’s most committed homebody.
    “Well,” said Michael, “congratulations.”
    “Mona wants me to meet her in Greece. And since I never get time with my darling daughter, I thought…”
    “Greece?”
    “Yes, dear.”
    “Lesbos?”
    The landlady’s eyes widened. “She’s told you about it?”
    “Well, not lately, but she’s been talking about it for years.”
    “Well, she’s going this time. She’s rented a villa, and she’s invited her doddering old parent.”
    “That’s great,” said Thack.
    Michael was already imagining the scenario. Ol’ frizzy-haired Mona, sullen and horny in some smoky taverna. Mrs. Madrigal holding court in her oatmeal linen caftan, doing that Zorba dance as the spirit moved her.
    “I can hardly take it in.” The landlady sighed contentedly. “The land of Sappho.”
    Michael snorted. “And about a zillion women who go there looking for Sappho. I don’t suppose she mentioned that?”
    “She did,” said Mrs. Madrigal.
    “It’s practically a pilgrimage.”
    “Yes.”
    “She said there are so many dykes there at the height of the season that it looks like the Dinah Shore Open.”
    Mrs. Madrigal gave him a look. “I think you’ve made your point, dear.”
    “Of course, I’m sure they’ve got men too.”
    “Yes,” came the dry reply. “I’m sure they do.”
    “When do you leave?” asked Thack.
    “Oh…early next week.”
    Michael wasn’t expecting this. Nor was he expecting the mild anxiety that swept over him. Why on earth should this bother him? It was only a vacation. “Not much time to pack,” he said lamely.
    She seemed to be searching his face for clues.
    “Of