Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

cream.”
    “Nicholas does.”
    “See if you can borrow his, then.” He gave her behind a pat as she darted off to one of the classrooms. When she was gone, he said: “We haven’t told her about the move yet.”
    Michael nodded but wouldn’t look at him.
    “You think that’s unwise?”
    “Brian…”
    “Well, you look like it does.”
    “It’s none of my business.” Michael’s tone was reasonable enough, but something was bugging him.
    “Mary Ann hasn’t firmed it up with Burke yet, and she thinks Shawna might spill the beans.”
    “Yeah, well…”
    “Plus I don’t wanna hit her with this until we can be…you know, more specific about her new home. So she feels like she’s moving to something instead of just away.”
    Michael shrugged.
    “If you think it’s a rotten idea, tell me.”
    “I don’t think anything.”
    “You’re lying.” Brian said this jovially, then smiled, hoping it would get a rise out of him. “You’re right, though. It’s her life too. She has a right to know what’s going on.”
    He had always believed that kids could sense it when you held out on them. At least on some subliminal level. Secrecy was unhealthy in the long run. He would talk to Mary Ann again and insist that they tell her.
    Shawna returned breathlessly, clutching a jar of cold cream. “We have to give it back,” she said.
    “Sure thing,” he said, and winked at Michael.

    Michael ordered dry toast and ate it slowly.
    “There’s a bug going around,” Brian assured him. “A lot of people have it.”
    His partner nodded.
    For a moment, perversely, Brian’s imagination went berserk. He saw Michael at ninety pounds, the way Jon had been, an old man at thirty-two. “Sometimes,” he added hastily, “When you change your diet or eat too many fruits and vegetables…”
    Michael gave him a small, indulgent smile as if to tell him to drop it.
    “O.K.,” said Brian.
    “What time is it?”
    He looked at his watch. “Eleven.”
    “We should be going. I told Polly we’d be back by now.”
    “I have to say something first.”
    Michael looked uncomfortable. “What?”
    “I just…I want you to know that this isn’t easy for me.”
    “What isn’t?”
    “Leaving.”
    “Oh.”
    “You’re my best friend, you know, and…being your partner has meant more to me…”
    “Brian, c’mon…”
    “No, wait a minute, dammit. I have to say this.”
    Michael looked down at his toast.
    “If you’re embarrassed, I’m sorry but…”
    “I’m not embarrassed.”
    “I’ve thought about this a lot, Michael. We’ve been through so much together. I’m really aware of…what it must be like for you right now.”
    “Look, don’t exaggerate the…”
    “I’m not, O.K.? I’m looking at the way things are. I couldn’t handle it if you thought I was…you know, deserting you.”
    “You’re not. I don’t feel that way. Stop overanalyzing things.”
    Brian smiled dimly. “That’s what Mary Ann always says.”
    “Well, in this case, she’s right.”
    “But something’s bothering you,” said Brian. “I can tell.”
    “Look, my stomach…”
    “Not your stomach. C’mon. I know you, man. I love you. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
    Refusing to meet his gaze, Michael picked up a piece of toast. “It’s got nothing to do with you and me.”
    “I know that’s not true.”
    “It is. Can’t you just leave me out of this?”
    “Nope,” Brian told him, smiling. “Sorry. You’re in my life. There’s nothing I can do about it. C’mon now. Tell me.”
    Michael sighed and set down his toast.

Completely Amicable
    T HE SHOW THAT MORNING HAD BEEN ABOUT MODERN witchcraft, but the broomstick graphics and spooky music that accompanied it had not exactly jibed with the panelists: three paisley-clad crystal enthusiasts from Oakland. They had been desperate last-minute replacements; all the really serious occultists had defected to the networks for Halloween.
    As she passed this funky trio afterward in the green room, Mary Ann fully expected a complaint to be lodged. Witches were a minority group nowadays, and one of these aging hippies was bound to accuse her of negative stereotyping, or possibly even “witchist” behavior.
    But they were all smiles.
    “That was a ball,” said the oldest one.
    The other two agreed, grinning like idiots.
    “Good,” she told them. “Let’s do it again soon.”
    Well, it figures, she thought, heading for the dressing room. They had gotten high off their