Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

course, you won’t need much,” he added.
    “I’m not sure I know how to pack. I haven’t been off Russian Hill for years.”
    All the more reason you should go,” said Thack. Michael asked: “Isn’t it hot there?”
    “Warm,” she replied.
    “But you hate the heat.”
    “Well, it’s dry heat, at least.”
    “They won’t have dope,” he reminded her.
    “Hey,” said Thack, looking at Michael. “Stop being such a wet blanket.”
    Michael shrugged. “I just thought she should know.”

    At dinner their talk drifted to Mary Ann and Brian, who apparently hadn’t visited the landlady since Christmas.
    “They’ve both been really busy,” Michael assured her, provoking a skeptical sneer from Thack, who was always pre-pared to believe the worst about Mary Ann.
    Mrs. Madrigal fussed with a wisp of hair at her temple. “I’d be delighted to take Shawna for them. Brian hasn’t asked me to sit for ages.”
    “Well,” said Michael, feeling uncomfortable, “she’s in kindergarten now, of course. That takes care of a lot of it.”
    “Yeah,” said Thack.
    The landlady bit her lip and nodded. “More potatoes, dear?”
    Thack shook his head and patted his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”
    “There’s lots more pot roast in the kitchen.”
    “I’m fine. Really.”
    “Michael?”
    “Well…”
    “Ah, he who hesitates…”
    He smiled at her, abandoning the pretense of this week’s diet.
    “Come with me,” she said, beckoning him toward the kitchen. And then to Thack: “Excuse us, will you, dear?”
    In the kitchen she hovered a little too cheerily over the roast. “Still like the crispy part?”
    “Sure. Whatever.”
    As she carved, her eyes remained fixed on her labors. “Should I be doing this, dear?”
    “What?”
    “Leaving.”
    “Of course,” he said. “Why not?”
    “Well…if everything’s not all right with you…”
    “Everything is fine,” he said. “Don’t you think I’d tell you?”
    “Well, I’d certainly hope…”
    He rolled his eyes. “I’ll come yelling. Trust me.”
    She took her time arranging the slab on his plate. “I’ll be gone for a whole month.”
    “Will you stop it!”
    She set down the serving fork and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Forgive me.”
    “Don’t apologize.”
    “I know it’s irrational, but it’s all I’ve thought about ever since…”
    “Don’t I look all right?”
    She cupped her hand against his cheek. “You look wonderful. As usual.”
    The intensity of her gaze embarrassed him, so he looked away. “Mona says it’s a beautiful island. They’ve only had an airport for five years or something.”
    “Mmm.” Her hand slid away, and she busied herself with dishes in the sink.
    “Leave those,” he said. “I’ll get them later.”
    “You could come with us,” she said, spinning around. “Huh?”
    “To Lesbos. I know Mona would love that.”
    He smiled at her indulgently. “I’ve got a business to run. And a house to pay for.”
    Thack appeared in the doorway, holding his plate. “Is it too late to change my mind?”
    “Of course not,” said the landlady.
    Michael stood aside while she heaped meat on Tack’s plate. She seemed just as relieved as he that Thack had come along to put an end to their awkwardness.

    They were washing dishes, the three of them, when someone rapped on the front door. Before the landlady could finish drying her hands, Polly Berendt had loped into the kitchen. “Oh, hi,” she said, seeing Michael and Thack. Then she turned to Mrs. Madrigal: “I was on my way out, and I thought you could use this.” She unzipped a pocket on her black leather jacket and produced a check, obviously for the rent. “Sorry it’s late.”
    The landlady tucked this offering into the sleeve of her kimono. “No trouble at all, dear.”
    Awkwardly, Polly rubbed a palm against a denimed thigh. “Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything.”
    “You aren’t interrupting. We’ve finished our dinner. Come sit with us.”
    “Thanks. I can’t.” She looked at Michael. “I’m meeting some friends at Francine’s.”
    “Oh,” chirped the landlady. “Do I know her?”
    “It’s a bar,” Polly explained.
    Michael couldn’t resist. “Guess where Mrs. Madrigal’s going.”
    Polly looked faintly suspicious. “Where?”
    “Lesbos.”
    “Uh…you mean…?”
    “The island,” Thack put in. “Where Sappho’s from.”
    Polly nodded vaguely.
    “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of her,”