Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

to take a picture of it, but her black-hosieried friend glanced at the nearby diners and shook her head disapprovingly.
    Go ahead, girl, thought Mona. Don’t be such a wimp.
    “Ah…Mona?”
    Startled by this voice, she turned to confront the handsome old codger who had shown Anna the sights this week, while Mona held down her post in a high-street taverna, watching the lovesick librarians go by. “Stratos,” she said.
    Short and dapper, he was wearing a blue sharkskin suit and smelling faintly of some piny aftershave. In the sunset his oversized white mustache had turned to pink cotton candy. “May I join you?” he asked.
    “Of course.” She waved toward a seat.
    “I thought perhaps…” He lowered his compact frame into the flimsy little chair. “I hoped we could dine together tonight. You and your mother and I. But perhaps she has made plans already.”
    “No. Not really. I mean…she’s joining me here any moment.”
    “Oh, yes?”
    “You’re welcome to join us.”
    “But perhaps your mother may…”
    “I’m sure it’s no problem, Straws.”
    He looked pleased. “Then I insist that you both be my guests.”
    “Whatever.”
    “Good, good.” He clamped his leathery little hands on his knees. “We must have wine, then. Retsina, yes? Or do you still think it tastes like mouthwash?”
    She smiled at him. “I can handle it.”
    He flagged down the twelve-year-old who was busing tables and placed his order in Greek, patting the boy’s shoulder when he was through. “So,” he said, turning back to Mona, “have you been enjoying Molivos?”
    “It’s beautiful,” she said, avoiding a direct answer. “Bored shitless” might lose something in the translation.
    He murmured in agreement, then gazed out to sea with an air of doggy wistfulness. “The season is over,” he said. “The people are leaving. The shops are closing. You can feel a difference in the streets already.”
    “Fine by me. The sooner that disco closes, the better.”
    He seemed to know what she meant, giving her a look that was almost sorrowful. “It is a great shame,” he said.
    “It gets louder and louder after midnight. And it’s no good closing your shutters, because it just gets hot and stuffy, and you can still hear the damn thing, anyway.”
    He nodded gravely. “Many people feel the way you do.”
    “Why doesn’t somebody do something, then? Pass a noise ordinance or something.”
    “There is such an ordinance,” said Stratos. He seemed on the verge of explaining this, when the busboy arrived with the retsina and three glasses. The old man dismissed him, then filled two of the glasses. “There is such an ordinance, but the police have refused to enforce it.”
    “Fire the damn police.”
    Stratos smiled warmly, showing a gold tooth. “The police are the national police. They are right-wing.”
    This made no sense to her. “The right wing hates rock-and-roll.”
    “Yes, but the police hate the mayor. The mayor is communist, and they have no wish to help him in any way. The mayor has appealed to the police, but they are indifferent. This is not their regime, so…” He shrugged to finish it off.
    “But this is their village. Everybody’s gonna suffer in the end. People come here for peace and quiet, not for Bruce Fucking Springsteen. They’ll stop coming.”
    “Yes.” Stratos remained placid in the face of her outburst. “And the mayor will be blamed, you see. The communist regime will be blamed.”
    Mona groaned. “Disco Wars in the Aegean.”
    “Ah,” said Stratos, raising eyebrows that looked like albino caterpillars. “Here is your mother.”
    Mona looked over her shoulder to see Anna striding down the esplanade, tanned and majestic in her linen caftan. It was gathered at the waist with a lavender scarf—a recent purchase, apparentlys—and her hair was up and spiked with her favorite chopsticks. There was even purple eye shadow to match the new scarf.
    “Stratos,” said Anna, extending her hand. “What a pleasant surprise.”
    For a split second, Mona thought he was going to kiss it, but he simply bowed and said: “It’s a very small village.”
    “Yes,” said Anna, smiling demurely. “I suppose so.” She descended gracefully into a chair and folded one hand across the other on the table. Such a femme, thought Mona. “Will you join us for dinner, Stratos? I’m sure we’d both be delighted if you would.”
    “He asked us,” Mona told her. “I said we would