Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

Mona gave her a wry smile. “Futterwoman.”
    After another leisurely silence, Susan said: “You think she’s found her couple yet?”
    Mona had been wondering the same thing herself. “Maybe not.”
    “Poor baby.”
    “I know. Must be tough, being so specialized.”
    Susan seemed lost in thought. “Did you know that whales do it in threes?”
    Mona mugged. “Pardon me?”
    “It’s true. Certain types of whales perform the sex act in threes. The gray ones, I think. The third whale sort of lies against the female and holds her steady while the other two are fucking.”
    Mona mulled this over. “Is the third whale male or female?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, what good are you? We need facts here, Futterwoman.”
    Susan chortled, obviously feeling just as giddy as Mona. “It was only a footnote.”
    “Are you sure you heard her right?”
    “Absolutely,” said Susan.
    “What would she want with a couple of old dames?”
    “Fuck you.”
    Mona laughed.
    “She’s not that young, anyway. It’s just the ponytail.”
    “Yeah…but…”
    “But what?” said Susan.
    “If we go back…”
    “Yeah?”
    “Well…I don’t wanna be the third whale.”
    Susan laughed. “Who does?” She stopped at an intersection, got her bearings, and reversed her course.
    “The tents are back this way,” Mona told her.
    “I know. I have to get something in my room.”
    “What if she doesn’t want us? I mean…what if she requires actual lovers?”
    “We’ll fake it,” said Susan, picking up steam.

    Her room was in a boardinghouse off the square. Mona waited for her downstairs while Madonna serenaded the patrons of a nearby taverna. Susan returned about three minutes later with an oblong box in one hand.
    “Saran Wrap?”
    Susan winked. “Don’t leave home without it.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “C’mon. Where have you been?”
    Mona started to answer, but “Gloucestershire” didn’t seem to cover it.
    “Better safe than sorry,” said Susan.
    “Oh.” The light dawned. “Right.”
    They hurried arm in arm down the pitch-black beach, giggling like a couple of teenagers.

Disguises
    I N THE SUN-SPLASHED COURTYARD AT PRESIDIO HILL School, Brian knelt amid the other parents and children and applied the finishing touches to his five-year-old. “Stop squirming, Puppy. I’m almost through.”
    “Hurry up,” she told him. “He’s gonna be here.”
    “Yes, Your Majesty.”
    He dabbed his forefinger in the gunky green makeup and obliterated the last patch of white on her cheek. “This is looking pretty good, actually.”
    “Lemme see.”
    “Hang on.”
    She had brought along a little hand mirror, something from a doll’s wardrobe, and was consulting it to the point of obsession. She had already used it to check the angle of her “shell”—two shallow cardboard boxes he had covered with green garbage bags—and to adjust the roll of her turtleneck sweater.
    “Where is he?” she asked. “He’s gonna miss it.”
    “He has to open the nursery first.” He checked his watch and saw that Michael was half an hour late. He’d probably hung around the place too long and gotten entangled in a sale.
    Shawna pawed through her bag of costume supplies. “Where’s my ninja mask?”
    “In my pocket. You don’t wanna put it on yet. The parade won’t start until…”
    “I wanna have it on when Michael gets here.”
    “Oh…O.K. Good thinking.” He produced the mask—really an orange blindfold with eyeholes—and knotted it behind her head. “Can you see?”
    “Yeah.”
    He drew back a little and appraised her. “I think we’ve got it.”
    She grabbed the little hand mirror.
    “See?” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Michael climbing the stairs from Washington Street.
    “Puppy…he’s coming.”
    Shawna tossed the mirror aside and assumed what was apparently the stance of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.
    “Where’s Shawna?” Michael asked, playing along.
    Shawna giggled and gave his leg a halfhearted little karate chop.
    “Oh, no,” said Michael. “The dreaded Michaelangelo.” He knelt and Shawna attached herself to his shoulder, laughing wickedly. “You look fabulous,” he told her.
    “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome.” Michael turned back to Brian. “Sorry I’m late.”
    “No sweat. It hasn’t started yet.”
    “Yeah,” said Shawna. “No sweat.” She let go of Michael’s shoulder and darted across the courtyard to the spot where her classmates were