Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

said: ‘Life is change, dear.’ It was really horrible.”
    Thack reached across the table and stroked Michael’s hand. “You’re just feeling guilty about not calling her.”
    “I know.”
    “Do you have a number for her?”
    “No.”
    “Well, maybe…”
    “I just have the creepiest feeling about this trip. There’s no real reason for it…I just do.” Michael knew how neurotic this sounded, but there was no point in denying his dread. Its roots apparently reached far deeper than that ridiculous dream.
    Thack observed him for a moment. “You know,” he said gently, “you didn’t betray her when you moved out.”
    “I know that.”
    “Do you?”
    “Well” if you wanna get technical, I didn’t give her that much notice. I lived there for ten years…”
    “O.K., here we go.”
    “That’s not it, though. It really isn’t.”
    Thack gave him a dubious look.
    “She wanted this to happen,” he said. “She wanted me to fall in love. For Christ’s sake, how can you betray your landlady?”
    “Exactly.” Thack smiled victoriously and took another bite of his oat bran.

    The call came when Michael was rescuing an English muffin from the jaws of their recently acquired antique Deco toaster. Mary Ann’s voice was subdued enough to suggest that Brian was still in bed. “Is this too early?” she asked without announcing herself.
    “Not at all,” he told her.
    Thack cast a curious glance at him.
    “We loved having you last night,” she said.
    “Thanks. It was fun. We really enjoyed ourselves.”
    His lover rolled his eyes.
    “Aren’t the Rands nice?”
    “Very.” He was keeping it cryptic now to avoid further commentary from Thack.
    “Look, I wondered what you were doing tomorrow. I thought we could go down the Marina Green or something, take one of our walks.”
    One of our walks. As if they did this all the time. As if they’d never stopped taking them.
    “I could pick you up,” she added.
    He hesitated only because Thack had reserved Saturday for building his pink triangle trellis. “God,” he said, “I’ve got so many chores…”
    “I could have you back by early afternoon. Please, Mouse, I really need to talk to you.”
    He marveled at the potency of an old nickname. “O.K. Fine. What time?”
    “Ten o’clock?”
    “Great. Shall I bring anything?”
    “Just your sweet self,” she said. “Bye.”
    “Bye.”
    When he hung up, Thack said: “Mary Ann?”
    He nodded. “We’re getting together tomorrow morning. The two of us.”
    Thack said “Fine” and left it at that, but Michael knew what he was thinking.
    He was thinking the same thing himself.

Lesbian Sauce
    T AKING HER USUAL, SHORTCUT THROUGH THE CHURCHYARD , Mona Ramsey headed into the high street of Molivos, where a pack of German tourists had already set forth on a predinner prowl through the gift shops. The street, which was barely wide enough for a car, was roofed at this point by a mat of ancient wisteria, so that to enter it was to find herself in a tunnel—cool, dim, and cobbled—descending to the village center.
    The tailor shop lay near the upper end of the tunnel, across from a pharmacy where a dough-faced old lady made proud display of condoms with names like Dolly, Squirrel, and Kamikaze. Dick-worship, Mona had found, was as rampant in Lesbos as it was everywhere else in Greece. You couldn’t buy a pack of breath mints at the local newsstand without running into a shelf or two of those plaster-pricked Pans.
    The patriarchy was out in full force when she entered the tailor shop. The proprietor, who also functioned as vice-mayor of the village, was gabbing away to half a dozen of his male constituents. Seeing her, he rose behind his antique sewing machine and gave a little birdlike bob. His cronies receded noticeably, realizing she was a customer.
    Hoping it would speak for itself, she held up the skirt that Anna had torn on her hike to Eftalou. Two days earlier, upon greeting the baker on her morning raisin bread run, Mona had made a stab at “kalimera, ” but it had come out sounding a lot like “kalamari. ” This had provoked gales of laughter from the other customers, who must have thought she had come to the wrong store. Who else but a stupid tourist would ask for squid at a bakery?
    “Ahhh,” said the tailor, recognizing the skirt. “Kiria Madrigal.”
    Thank God for that. Another fan of Anna’ Just…you know…” She held up the tear, laid her palm across it like a patch, and