Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

Presidio Hill on alternate Wednesdays making pigs-in-a-blanket for the children. Mary Ann herself had been drafted once or twice for these duties, though she deeply resented the intimidation involved. For five grand a year they could damn well hire their own wienie roasters.
    When she arrived at the rustic redwood building, the usual after-school mayhem was in progress. Voyagers, Audis, and latter-day hippie vans were double, even triple, parked on Washington Street, while clumps of grownups gossiped among themselves and clucked over the artwork of their off-spring.
    She scanned the crowd for Shawna. This was never a simple task, since Brian dressed and delivered the kid, and you never knew what she might be wearing. Lately, egged on by the school’s policy of creative dressing, Shawna had delivered one lurid fashion statement after another. Like yesterday, when she came home wearing high-top Reeboks with a tutu and tights.
    “Mom,” called a reedy voice among many. It was Shawna, bounding toward the car in her flouncy red dress with the big Minnie Mouse polka dots. Mary Ann approved of that one, so she relaxed a little until she caught sight of the rest: the pearls, the lipstick, the turquoise eye shadow.
    “Hi, Puppy,” she yelled back, wondering whether Brian, a teacher, or Shawna herself was responsible for this latest atrocity. She flung open the car door and watched nervously as her daughter left the curb. Next to her, against the sidewalk, a Yellow Cab was parked, driver at the wheel. A little girl was climbing into the passenger side. Somehow this smacked of parental neglect, and Mary Ann watched the scene with something approaching indignation.
    “That’s her dad,” said Shawna, hopping onto the seat.
    “Who?”
    “Duh! That guy right there! The cabdriver.” The child was getting more smartass by the day. Mary Ann gave her a menacing look. When she glanced at the cabbie again, he beamed back at her knowingly, parent to parent, and she couldn’t help being impressed. How many airport runs would it take, anyway, to pay for this glorified baby-sitting service?
    “His name is George,” said Shawna.
    “How’d you know that?”
    “Solange told me.”
    “Solange calls him George? Instead of Daddy, you mean?”
    Shawna rolled her eyes. “Lots of kids do that.”
    “Well, not this one. Fasten your seat belt, Puppy.” Her daughter complied, making a breathless production of it. Then she said: “I call you Mary Ann.”
    This was clearly a gauntlet flung at her feet; she opted to kick it aside. “Right,” she said, pulling out into the street.
    “I do.”
    “Mmm.”
    “I called you that today at circle time.”
    Mary Ann shot her a glance. “You talked about me at circle time?” Why should this make her feel so uncomfortable? Did she really think Shawna was going to bad-mouth her in front of the other kids?
    “We talked about TV,” the child explained.
    “Oh, you did?” Now she felt foolish. Shawna must have told the other kids about her famous mom.
    “Nicholas says TV is bad for you.”
    “Well, too much TV, maybe. Puppy, did you talk about Mommy during…?”
    “Put on a tape,” said Shawna.
    “Shawna…”
    “Well, I wanna listen to something.”
    “You can in a minute. Don’t be so impatient.”
    The child cocked her head goofily and did her impression of Pee-wee Herman. “I know you are, but what am I?”
    “Nice. Very funny.”
    Another tilt of the head. “I know you are, but what am I?”
    Mary Ann glowered at her. “I got it the first time, O.K.?”
    After a moody pause, Shawna said: “Guess what?”
    “What?”
    “We had quesadillas today.”
    “Oh, yeah? I like those, don’t you?”
    “Yeah. Nicholas’s father made them, and Nicholas had cheddar cheese, and I had modern jack.”
    Modern jack. She would save that one for Brian. He loved it when Shawna said “aminal” for “animal” or otherwise flubbed a word charmingly.
    “Sounds yummy,” she told the child, reaching across to pop open the glove compartment. “Find a tape you like. I think there’s some Phil Collins in there.”
    “Yuck!”
    “O.K., Miss Picky.”
    Shawna gave her an indignant look. “I’m not Miss Piggy.”
    “I said picky, silly.” She smiled. “Go on. Find what you want.”
    After foraging for a while, Shawna settled on Billy Joel. This was one taste they shared, so they sang along together at the top of their lungs, thoroughly pleased with themselves.

ALL YOUR LIFE IS TIME