“Jesus,” said Mary Ann.
“I fed a sedative to the children. That helped some. But most of the trip was at sea. Ghastly. The worst experience of my life. It was a little easier when we reached Georgetown. Captain Duke arranged for us to be met by another PPP official …”
“You mentioned that before. What’s PPP?”
“People’s Progressive Party. Jungle Communists. They had us on a flight to Havana within twenty-four hours. D’orothea and I were already working in a cannery when the news of the slaughter broke.”
“How long did you live in Havana, then?”
“Two-and-a-half years. Up until last month.”
“They wouldn’t let you come home?”
“If you mean, here, I didn’t want to go home. D’orothea and I were happy. The children were happy. There were principles involved, things that mattered to us.” DeDe smiled forlornly. “Mattered. Past tense. One of our beloved comrades found out.”
“Found out?”
“That D’orothea and I were lovers.”
Mary Ann flushed, in spite of herself. “So they … uh … deported you?”
DeDe nodded. “They gave us a choice, sort of. D’orothea decided to stay. She felt that being a socialist was more important than being a lesbian.” She smiled almost demurely. “I didn’t agree with that, so I ended up at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, where I did what I always do when the shit gets this deep.”
“What?”
“I called Mother,” grinned DeDe.
Later, they tiptoed into an upstairs bedroom where DeDe’s four-year-olds lay sleeping. Seeing them there, sprawled blissfully against the bedclothes, Mary Ann was reminded of the little silk dolls sold on the street in Chinatown.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
DeDe beamed. “Edgar and Anna.”
“Named for your father and … who?”
“I don’t know,” said DeDe. “Daddy just liked the name. He asked me to name her that on the night he died.”
“What they’ve seen,” said Mary Ann, looking down at the children. “They don’t remember anything, do they?”
“Not from Guyana, if that’s what you mean.”
“Thank God.”
After a moment of silence, Mary Ann said: “I can’t help telling you … this is just the most … amazing story, DeDe. I’m so flattered you chose me for this.”
DeDe smiled. “I hope it’ll do you some good.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you want to wait before releasing the story? It ought to be told now, it seems to me. You’ll only have to hide out, and sooner or later someone will …”
“There are things I have to do,” DeDe said sternly.
“Like … what?”
“I can’t tell you yet,” DeDe replied.
When she leaned down to kiss her children, there was something indefinable in her eyes.
Wishing Upon a Star
__________ _________SAT UP IN BED AND LIT A CIGARET. “MAYBE WE’D better take a break, huh?”
“Yeah?” said Michael, “I’m sorry.” God, was he sorry.
“It’s O.K., pal.”
“Maybe with you.”
“Nah. It’s fine. Happens all the time.”
“It does?” Michael sat up, so that now they were both propped against the regal headboard.
The movie star gave his thigh a friendly shake. “Sure. All the time.”
“That must be kind of a drag,” said Michael.
The same sleepy, half-lidded smile that seemed to work so well on_______ _______’s leading ladies flickered across the actor’s face. “I’m just another guy like you, you know.”
Michael smiled back at him. “Not yet, you aren’t.”
“No sweat,” said _____, taking another drag on his cigaret. “We’re not in any hurry. I’m not, anyway.”
“Won’t the movie be over soon?”
The movie star shrugged. “You didn’t miss anything. I can promise you that.”
“Not down stairs, maybe.”
“Hey, ease up, pal … if I don’t turn you on, there’s no harm done.”
“Are you kidding? You’ve turned me on since I was eleven.”
“Hey,” grinned _______, “thanks a helluva lot.”
Michael laughed apologetically. “I’m not doing very well, am I?”
_______looked at him with affection, then tousled his hair. “All right. Pretty damn all right.”
“It’s such a waste,” Michael lamented. “Your dick is so beautiful.”
The actor nodded his thanks.
“I can’t believe what a fuck-up I am. I mean, Jesus God … how many cracks do you get at_______ ________?”
“Two or three,” said the movie star, tweaking Michael’s nipple. “And possibly lasagna. Guido’s dishing it out to the hordes downstairs. Why don’t I bring us a plate?”
Fifteen minutes later, when ______ came back with the food, Michael had some good news for him: “I found the popper case. It was wedged between the mattress and the headboard.”
“Great,” said ______, easing into bed holding two forks and a plate of lasagna.
Michael examined the black leather pouch. “Jees. Your initials and everything. And real poppers inside. Lord, it’s so grand here at the Harmonia Gardens.”
______speared a chunk of lasagna and handed the fork to his guest. “That was a present from Ned. Christmas before last. He knows how to buy for me.”
Michael took a healthy bite out of the lasagna. “That was what did it, you know. Those goddamn initials on that little leather case. All I could think of was: ‘Hey, that’s right. That must make me______ ______.’”
“She’s a little tougher than you,” said the actor, “but I like your body better.”
Michael smiled with a mouthful of lasagna. “Something tells me you’ve said that before.”
________spoke to the tip of his fork. “Well, you’re not exactly the first guy to say he feels like_________ _________.”
“Good point.”
“It’ll pass. It just takes a while sometimes.”
“I think it already has.”
“Huh?”
“Do you mind if we ditch the lasagna and have another go at it?”
“You’re on,” grinned ______.
Somewhere in Arizona, Michael is hitchhiking on a stretch of desert highway. The trucker who picks him up is older than he is—gray and a little grizzled—but his body is massive and hard. Without a word, he lays a thick-veined hand on Michael’s thigh and takes him to a sleazy motel on the edge of the desert. It is there that it finally happens, there that Michael tastes diesel fuel on a sunburned neck and commits himself totally to the appetites of a stranger.
“Uh … Michael?”
“Mmm?”
“You O.K.?”
“Does Nancy have a red dress?”
“What?”
“Sorry. Just a little post-coital campy.”
“Oh.”
“I’m great. How are you?”
“Great. All things are possible, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” said Michael dreamily, wondering if somewhere in Arizona a lonely hitchhiker was sleeping with a truck driver, but fantasizing about_____ ______.
It seemed only fair.
Womb for One More
THE SAMADHI CENTER ON VAN NESS WAS ACROSS THE street from a Midas muffler shop and next door to Hippo Hamburgers. Brian pointed this out to Mary Ann, adding wickedly: “It kinda makes me feel mystical already.”
Rolling her eyes, Mary Ann pushed the button for the third floor. “This isn’t like Altered States, you know. It isn’t a psychedelic number. It’s whatever you want it to be. Brian, promise me you won’t be a wiseass with the attendant. They take this place seriously.”
“Right.” Brian assumed an appropriately sober expression. “Are you actually a member here now?”
“I signed up for ten floats,” s
aid Mary Ann. “I can take them anytime.”
“How much was that?”
“A hundred and twenty-five dollars.”
Brian whistled.
“That’s not so much,” said Mary Ann. “Not for what it does for me. Besides, it’s close to work and I …”
“Where are you getting this kind of money?”
“What kind of money?”
“We’ve been living like lords for the past week, Mary Ann. Ever since you got back from Hillsborough.”
“We may have splurged a bit now and then.”
“Yeah.” Brian counted on his fingers. “Dinner at L’Oran-gerie. Uh … scalper’s tickets to Liza Minnelli. That big motherfucker floral horseshoe you sent Michael when he left on the tour. Have I left anything out?”
Mary Ann wouldn’t look at him.
“It’s that old lady,” persisted Brian. “She’s giving you money, isn’t she?”
“Brian …”
“Just tell me that much, O.K.?”
“All right!” said Mary Ann. “She’s giving me money. Are you satisfied now?”
“I knew it! She’s buying hot consumer tips from you!”
The elevator door opened. “Very funny,” said Mary Ann, striding briskly across gray industrial carpeting. “Will you behave yourself now?”
The room assigned to Brian contained a Samadhi tank and a private shower. The tank stood chest high, roughly as long and wide as a twin bed. According to the attendant, it contained ten inches of water in which 800 pounds of Epsom salts had been dissolved.
“Is it dark in there?” asked Brian.
The attendant nodded. “Completely. We also have earplugs, if you like.”
“How do I know when my hour is up?”
“They play music,” said Mary Ann.
“In the tank?”
The attendant smiled euphorically. “Pachelbel.”
“My favorite,” said Brian.
Mary Ann shot daggers at him. “I’ll be in the tank across the hall.”
Brian winked at her. “Last one to Nirvana is a rotten egg.”
It took him several minutes to get used to it, to accept the fact that he could relax, even sleep, lying flat on his back in the pitch darkness, suspended like a fetus in this vat of warm, viscous water.
The earplugs, furthermore, obliterated everything but the sound of his own breathing.
It was not what he wanted.
He crawled out of the tank, showered off the salty slime, and stole across the hallway to Mary Ann’s room. Still naked, he knocked on the door of her tank.
The vinyl-covered hatch opened slowly, revealing the whites of her eyes.
“Brian! You scared me to death!”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Did they see you come over here?”
Brian shook his head. “Cohabitation is against the rules?”
“It’s supposed to be a womb, Brian.”
“And I should go back to mine, huh?”
Finally she smiled at him. “You’re just the worst.”
“Anyway,” said Brian, “we can tell them we’re twins.”
They were floating in space, fingertips touching.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” whispered Brian.
“What?”
“If you’ll tell me about your secret mission to Hillsborough, I’ll tell you about Jennifer Rabinowitz.”
“No deal.”
“I’ll tell you, anyway.”
“I figured you would,” said Mary Ann. “Who is she?”
“Just a Good Time Charlene I used to know.”
“And?”
“And … I didn’t fuck her while you were in Hillsborough.” Mary Ann laughed. “Terrific.”
“I could have. Easy as pie. She knew about you and didn’t mind …”
“Brian, I don’t mind.”
“I knew that, too. She didn’t mind and you didn’t mind, and she knew that I knew that you didn’t mind. I had the whole goddamn world’s permission to fuck Jennifer Rabinowitz, and I didn’t do it.”
She squeezed his hand affectionately. “I don’t think there’s a medal for that, sport.”
“I don’t want a medal,” he murmured. “I want you to know what it means.”
“I know what it means,” she said softly.
A Man Like Saint Francis
BEHIND THE WHEEL OF HIS RED 1957 CADILLAC EL Dorado Biarritz, Father Paddy took on a disturbingly secular aspect. Prue could see why the car was a continuing embarrassment to the archdiocese, but she also felt that a bona fide television personality should be entitled to a few idiosyncrasies.
“Well,” said Father Paddy, grinning at the society columnist, “what’s the latest on Nature Boy?”
Prue chastised him with a little frown. “He’s a very good man, Father.”
“Did I imply otherwise?”
“He used to be a man of the cloth, in fact.”
The cleric’s eyebrow arched. “A Catholic?”
“No … some sort of Protestant, I think. He was an investment broker before that.”
“What?”
“I have no reason to doubt him,” she said defensively. “He doesn’t talk much, but he’s quite literate when he does. He’s amazing, Father. He’s done everything. He even taught English once at a private school in Rio. He’s done it all, and now he’s … doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Living. Being. Existing with God.”
“Has he hit you up for cash yet?”
Prue was shocked. “No! As a matter of fact, I offered to help him out and he turned me down.”
“I see.”
“He’s been living there for almost a year-and-a-half, he says. The park police know about him, but they let him stay because he respects the environment. He’s marvelous with animals, in fact. He has three little chipmunks that live under the bed.”
Father Paddy frowned. “This is all very charming, my child. But how does he eat?”
“I don’t know. He scrounges, I guess.” Prue turned and looked out the window as the Biarritz climbed into Pacific Heights. “Your skepticism distresses me, Father. He’s no different from Saint Francis, really.”
The priest smiled indulgently. “I’m only concerned for your safety, darling.”
She took his hand appreciatively. “I know that. But it’s such a marvelous story, isn’t it?”
“How many times have you been there, anyway?”
“Uh … I’m not sure.”
“Give us a guess.”
She searched in her bag for her lipstick. “Maybe five or six times.”
Father Paddy’s eyes flickered mischievously. “My, my … such a long story, too.”
That Word
FOR ALMOST A WEEK NOW, FRANNIE HALCYON HAD BEEN giddy as a schoolgirl. She believed in life again, in children, in sunshine, in motherhood, in miracles. And she longed, more than ever, to share her joy with the world.
“Viola called today,” she announced at lunch. “It was all I could do to keep from blabbing.”
DeDe frowned. “Don’t even joke about that, Mother.”
“I know, I know.”
“I need time, Mother. Viola would be on the phone to the Chronicle in two seconds flat. Please help me out on this, O.K.?”
“I got Mary Ann for you, didn’t I?”
“I know, Mother, and I appreciate …”
“I just don’t understand why you need a whole month, DeDe. Surely a week or so would …”
“Mother!”
“Never mind, then.” Frannie looked down at her spinach salad. “Have you talked to her today?”
“Who?”
“Mary Ann.”
DeDe nodded. “She’s coming by tomorrow.”
“She’s such a sweet girl,” said Frannie.
“She wants to tape me,” said DeDe.
“Oh … I see.” The matriarch contemplated her salad again. “About … your experiences, I suppose?”
DeDe looked faintly annoyed. “That was our arrangement, Mother.”
“Of course.”
“She’s promised not to release anything until the month’s up. I trust her.”
“So do I. Uh … DeDe?”
“Yeah?”
“You won’t be talking about the … business with D’orothea, will you?”
DeDe’s fork stopped in mid-air. She looked up, smoldering. “Mother, the whole business was with D’orothea. I lived with her for four years, remember?”
“You know what I mean,” said Frannie.
“Yes,” DeDe replied flatly. “I know what you mean.” She dug into her salad as if she were trying to kill something in it. “You’ve made your feelings quite clear about that.”
Frannie hesitated, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “DeDe … I think I’ve been a lot more … accepting than most mothers might have been. I accepted those precious children long ago, didn’t I? I don’t quite … understand your friendship with D’orothea, but I would never presume to pass judgment on you for it. I just don’t think it’s something that warrants public discussion.”
“Why?” asked DeDe. She didn’t look up.
“It’s in poor taste, darling.”
DeDe set her fork down and looked at her mother for a long time before speaking. “So,” she said at last, her lip curling slightly, “I should restrict my reminiscences to tasteful things like cyanide and public torture. Super, Mother. Thanks for the advice.”
“You needn’t be snide, DeDe.”
“D’orothea Wilson helped save your grandchildren’s lives. You owe her a lot, Mother.”
“I know that. And I’m grateful.”
“Besides, I ended up with the gay Cuban refugees. I’m a dyke on paper, Mother. It’s a matter of public record, for God’s sake!”
“Don’t use that word around me, DeDe!” Frannie fumbled for her napkin. “Anyway, the refugee people could have made a mistake, a clerical error or something.”
“I loved her,” DeDe said coolly. “That was no clerical error.”