Tales of the City 08 - Mary Ann in Autumn

other. But to her I’m still the bad guy. You can’t break a five-year-old’s heart and not expect to pay for it sooner or later.”
    “C’mon now.”
    “It’s true, though. Actions have consequences. In actions have them. We set things in motion by what we don’t do. I’m not saying I would have done things any different. Brian was born to raise children, and I wasn’t. Anyway, she was always Daddy’s little girl. She ended up in the right place.”
    “Well, now that you’re on the same coast …”
    “No, she’s back again. And I’m not sure what coast I’m on.”
    DeDe glanced at her. “She’s back here , you mean?”
    “Yeah. Michael keeps up with her. She lives in the Mission somewhere.”
    DeDe was silent for a moment, so John Mayer’s lyrics filled the gap: No, it won’t all go the way it should, but I know the heart of life is good.
    “I love that song,” said Mary Ann.
    “Me too.”
    “I made it my ringtone, actually.” She smiled at her taciturn old friend. “That’s hopelessly unhip of me, right?”
    “Who cares?”
    “I’m sure it is. It’s gotta be. I never like anything hip. I used to like John Denver, for heaven’s sake.”
    DeDe chuckled. “D’or gave me shit about that last month. We were driving out to Skylonda to get her dosha balanced, and I was singing along to ‘Country Roads.’ ”
    “To get her what balanced?”
    “Her dosha ?”
    “What on earth is that?”
    “Who knows? I get my nails done while she’s doing it.”
    Mary Ann laughed, and it felt really good.
    “She loves Shawna’s blog, by the way. She’s been writing about some homeless woman, and D’or can’t get enough of it.”
    “Well … D’or is hip. Always has been.”
    DeDe caught her drift and smirked. “Too much for ya, huh?”
    “I don’t read it. Well, once. Once I read it.”
    DeDe chuckled. “Not my cup of tea either, I have to admit.”
    This was what Mary Ann loved about her. DeDe never claimed to be hip, and really didn’t care who knew it. “I love that we can talk like this,” she said. “We have such a great bond after all these years.”
    DeDe gave her a sly smile. “We know where the bodies are buried.”
    W HEN THEY ARRIVED AT S T. Sebastian’s, she was disconcerted by the number of times she was asked the purpose of her visit to the hospital. She hadn’t expected a welcoming committee, but it was bothersome and, yes, faintly demeaning to have to keep repeating herself at a time like this. It was DeDe who explained they were just making sure they didn’t remove a uterus from someone who had come there, say, for a heart transplant, though that wasn’t especially reassuring. The sense that she was losing her identity in the clanking machinery of this pastel place was only heightened when they gave her a locker key with a wristband and a plastic bag for her “personal effects.”
    “What next?” she whispered. “Delousing and leg irons?”
    DeDe chuckled, handing her the final humiliation, her backless hospital gown. “The ladies’ room is over there. I’ll guard the door while you change.” Mary Ann had a quick, amusing image of that: DeDe standing like a lone sentinel with her arms firmly folded across her matronly bosom. Mother Goose in a Chanel suit.
    In the women’s room she slipped out of her skirt and blouse and put her cocktail rings and tennis bracelet in the plastic bag. She was glad she’d left her wedding ring back in Darien, since she didn’t have to confront the symbolism of removing it now. She had put on makeup that morning, out of old habit and something to do with pride, but she refrained from checking it in the mirror. She didn’t want to see herself in this moment.
    DeDe followed her down the hall to anesthesia. “Don’t worry,” she said drily, “I’ve got your back,” by which she meant she was doing her best to block the public view of Mary Ann’s flagrantly exposed ass. “And, by the way, missy, if that were my booty, I’d do all these sick people a favor and let ’em see it.”
    Mary Ann laughed. “You’re a shameless liar.” But such a lovely friend, she thought, since lately most of her female comforters had been paid professionals. First Calliope—well, that harridan hadn’t been professional, but she had certainly been paid—and now, of course, Dr. Ginny, whose strong, calm presence had been wonderful, but all in the line of duty. DeDe, however, was not being reimbursed for her support. Mary Ann had