“He’s just practicing,” explained Burke. “Let’s go. I don’t need to see the choir loft.”
“If you’d really like to—”
He shook his head. “None of this is familiar. I’d know by now if it was.”
They turned in their tracks and made a dignified exit down the aisle. The old lady in the pink hanky looked up as they passed her pew. Mary Ann smiled at her apologetically, then gazed heavenward at the great rose window. Its brilliance was gone now; it was black as the night outside.
“Burke?”
“Mmm?”
“Let’s do something mindless and cheerful tonight. Like a Burt Reynolds movie, or maybe that country-western sing-along place in the—Oh, God, stop! Don’t look, Burke!” She grabbed his hand and jerked him unceremoniously into a pew, pulling him down to the prayer bench. “Don’t move,” she whispered. “Don’t turn around.”
“What in the hell are …?”
She kept her head bowed in pseudo piety. “Shhh! Mr. Tyrone is here.”
“Who?”
“The man with the transplant.”
“Where?”
“By the door. He was standing by the door, Burke.”
Burke’s tone accused her of overdramatizing. “If he sings in the choir, Mary Ann, he has every reason in the world to—”
“Burke, he had something with him.”
Burke peered over his shoulder.
“Don’t, he’ll see you.”
“He’s doing better than I am, then.”
“What?”
“There’s no one there, Mary Ann.”
She turned slowly and looked toward the door again.
Burke was right. There was no one there.
Tears at the Tivoli
MONA WAS BEGINNING HER SECOND HALF LITER OF red wine when Mrs. Madrigal arrived at the Savoy-Tivoli.
Alone.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Madrigal?”
The landlady nodded. “It could have been nastier, I suppose.” She slipped into a chair and grasped Mona’s hand across the table. “I did my best, dear.”
“Did she make a scene?”
“She tried to.”
Mona hesitated, then blurted out the question that had been plaguing her all evening. “Did she talk to you about Mr. Williams?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“I was flabbergasted. I had no idea he was a detective, much less hers. And of course, I can’t imagine what happened to him.”
Mona was gazing down at her wineglass.
“Look at me, dear. That’s the truth.”
“I believe you.”
“You must, Mona. You must.”
“I do,” smiled her daughter. “Where is she, anyway? Was she bent out of shape?”
“Totally. May I have a sip of your wine, dear?”
Mona pushed her glass across the table. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this.”
“She’s leaving tomorrow. You should give her a call.”
“All right.”
“Don’t forget, she loves you, Mona. She made a lot of sacrifices for you in her time.”
“I know.” Mona retrieved the wineglass and took a sip. “Do you mind if I ask you about one more thing?”
“Go ahead.”
“Betty said that Mr. Williams told her your name was an anagram.”
“How interesting.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is it true?”
Mrs. Madrigal smiled enigmatically. “Haven’t you tried to work it out yet?”
“Then it is?”
The landlady picked up a bread stick and nibbled on it. “I’ll make a very shady deal with you, young lady. I’ll tell you the anagram, if you’ll invite a friend of mine to dinner.”
“Who?”
“Brian Hawkins.”
“Forget it.”
Mrs. Madrigal set the bread stick down demurely. “Very well.”
“I’m your daughter,” countered Mona. “I have a right to know that anagram.”
“Indeed. And as your parent, I have a right to discuss grandchildren.”
“Bullshit.”
Mrs. Madrigal wagged her finger. “Mother Mucca will wash your mouth out with soap.”
“Brian Hawkins is not even vaguely interested in me.”
“I think he will be.”
“Huh?”
“Trust me. Mona.”
Mona looked away. “He made me feel like such a damned fool.”
“Oh, Mona, we’re all damned fools! Some of us just have more fun with it than others. Loosen up, dear! Don’t be so afraid to cry … or laugh, for that matter. Laugh all you want and cry all you want and whistle at pretty men in the street and to hell with anybody who thinks you’re a damned fool!” She lifted the wineglass in a toast to the younger woman. “I love you, dear. And that makes you free to do anything.”
Mona didn’t answer. There were tears streaming down her face. Mrs. Madrigal reached across the table and dabbed her eyes with a napkin.
“Wet enough for you?” asked Mona.
Suddenly, the waiter loomed over them.
“Oh, Luciano,” exclaimed Mrs. Madrigal. “Have you met my daughter?”
The waiter made a courtly bow. Mona flushed and extended her hand. The waiter kissed it, saying, “Bella.”
Mrs. Madrigal smiled proudly. “Of course she’s bella! She takes after her … whatever.”
Mona smiled at her through bleary eyes. “You’re so weird.”
“Grazie,” said her landlady.
Descent into Nowhere
MARY ANN’S EYES GREW AS BIG AS COMMUNION wafers as she stared at the spot where the man with the transplant had been. “I swear, Burke. He was right there next to the door.”
“Maybe,” shrugged Burke. “But he ain’t there now.”
“I guess he went back outside.”
“Do you want to look?”
She hesitated. “I think we should. But we can’t look like we are.”
“Right. And what did you mean, he had something with him?”
She shifted from a kneeling to a sitting position, following Burke’s cue. “I’m not sure,” she said uneasily. “It looked like a Styrofoam cooler.”
He blinked at her. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
She shook her head. “I never mentioned it. Jon saw him leaving the hospital with a Styrofoam cooler last week.”
“So?”
“So nothing. That’s just what he saw. Out in the parking lot.”
Burke raised his eyebrows. “Do you think,” he asked dramatically, “that he prefers beer to wine at communion?”
“I’m not making a big deal out of it, Burke.” She knew his flippancy was a defense, but it still irritated her.
He stood up and led her out of the pew. As they headed toward the doorway, three or four more worshipers entered the building. “How much time have we got?” asked Burke.
“Fifteen minutes,” came the reply.
They reached the doorway. “I’ll go first,” said Mary Ann. “We’ll just stroll out naturally, like we’re getting some fresh air or something.”
Burke winked and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Mary Ann tugged at the heavy door and led the way into the dark. As casually as possible, she checked out the people chatting in the courtyard in front of the cathedral. The man with the transplant was not there.
She took Burke’s arm and reentered the cathedral. “It doesn’t make sense,” she whispered. “There’s nowhere else he could’ve gone.”
“Unless …” Burke turned and pointed to the elevator just to the right of the entrance. Set back in the shadows, it had totally escaped their notice. “It must go up to the bell tower or something.”
“To what?”
“Beats me. Quasimodo, maybe?” He reached out and pushed the button.
“Burke! What are you doing?”
“We can’t stop now, can we??
??
The elevator door slid open suddenly, spilling profane fluorescent light into that inky corner of the cathedral. Burke gripped Mary Ann’s arm and pulled her into the elevator. The door closed immediately.
“Burke, we could get in trouble.”
He didn’t answer. He was examining the control buttons. “There’s 2 and 3 and LL,” he said. “LL must be Lower Level. Let’s try 2 for starters. It’s more celestial to go up, don’t you think?” He pushed the 2 button. Nothing happened.
“C’mon, Burke. Open the door.”
“Wait a minute.” He tried the 3 button. The elevator didn’t budge.
“Burke!”
“One more.” This time the LL button got them moving. Down. The ride took less than ten seconds. The door opened onto a lighted hallway. Burke stepped out, taking Mary Ann with him. The elevator abandoned them.
“It’s just the gift shop,” whispered Mary Ann. A series of windows along the hallway offered a glimpse of the religious emporium. Mostly St. Francis statuary and felt wall hangings with hippie peace-and-love mottoes.
The shop was in semi-darkness, but Burke tried the door. It was locked. So were the other two doors in the hallway. The elevator was the only way out. Burke grinned sheepishly at Mary Ann, then pushed the Up button. Nothing happened.
“Aha!” said Burke. “Mr. Tyrone Transplant must be on the way down.”
Mary Ann’s blood froze. “Down here?”
Burke smiled. “Down from 2 or 3. Obviously, he went up instead of down. He’s probably getting off on the ground floor right now. That is, unless someone else is using it.”
“But how could he have gone up, when we could only go down?”
The answer came to her in a single dizzying flash, just as the door of the elevator opened.
They boarded the elevator in silence and rode to the main floor. When the door opened, Mary Ann moved to the control panel and pushed the Close Door button. Burke stared at her in bewilderment.
“Push the 2 button again,” she said.
He did. Nothing happened.
Her hands moved to the nape of her neck and unfastened the latch on the gold chain he had given her in Mexico. She handed him the key, then pointed to a slot on the control panel.
“See if it fits” she said.
The Way Out
EDGAR AND ANNA, HUH?”
D’orothea’s smile seemed almost maternal as she sat by DeDe’s bed and held the new mother’s hand.
DeDe beamed. “You saw them, huh?”
“You betcha. They’re magnificent, hon. And one of each. How perfect can you get?”
“Would you tell my mother that?”
D’orothea frowned. “She couldn’t handle it, huh?”
“You might say that. She told me I should have had an abortion.”
“I thought she was Catholic.”
“She is,” muttered DeDe. “She’s also from Hillsborough and a member of the Francisca Club. Those things have a dogma all their own. One of their most well-known tenets is that you don’t have a baby with slant eyes.”
D’orothea squeezed her hand. “Don’t even think about it, hon.”
“I have to. I have to live with it.”
“Do you?” D’orothea’s eyes challenged her.
“I can’t run away, D’or.”
“Maybe not. But you could run toward, something.”
“Like what?”
D’orothea shrugged. “A new life. A life where you don’t have to deal with the kind of people you’re dealing with.”
“I think it’s a little late for me.”
D’orothea shook her head. “Wrong, hon. It wasn’t too late for me.”
“I don’t get it.”
D’orothea smiled understandingly. “We’re not that far apart, you know. I may be from the wrong part of Oakland, but I got very grand very early. I was worshiping false idols before I was out of a training bra. Hell, I was worse than you, hon. With me, it was a conscious choice. With you, it’s just a question of family tradition.”
“Never underestimate the power of family tradition,” said DeDe ruefully.
“Or the power of the Almighty Dollar. Listen, I wanted money so bad I dyed my skin black to get it.”
“What?”
“It’s a long and sordid story. I’ll tell it to you someday when you … DeDe, look: do you remember that night we went to the fashion show at the Legion of Honor, when you said it was tough living at the end of the rainbow?”
“Sure.”
“Well, maybe your premise was wrong.”
“How’s that?”
“Maybe this isn’t it, hon. Maybe San Francisco isn’t the end of the rainbow.”
DeDe absorbed this radical suggestion slowly. “D’or, do you mean leave?”
“Why not?”
“I can’t, D’or. My family is here. My mother, at least. And all my friends are here.”
“What good have they done you so far?”
DeDe studied her friend’s face for a moment. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to convert a sinner.”
D’orothea laughed. “I have been going to church a lot lately. And that’s part of it, I guess. We don’t get that much time on this planet, DeDe, and unless a few of us make an effort to change ourselves and the corruption around us … well, it just won’t happen, that’s all.”
“I see that, D’or. I agree with it, but I don’t see how running away can—”
“Not away, hon. To. To something.” “What are you driving at?”
D’orothea smiled. “I guess I should come right out and say it, huh?”
It took her fifteen minutes to outline her proposal. When she had finished, DeDe stared at her with a mixture of doubt and fascination.
“You mean I could take the babies?” she asked.
“Of course! That’s the really wonderful part of it. A brand-new life for them, free from the bigotry and small-mindedness of your mother’s friends! A brand-new life for all of us, DeDe!”
DeDe flushed excitedly. “In a crazy way, it makes a lot of sense.”
“Damn straight!”
“Mother will have a fit.”
“No she won’t. Well, maybe at first. But in the long run, this saves her from all that embarrassment. You can get the hell out of town before the Hillsborough crowd has a chance to prey on your children. Your mother will be grateful for that, DeDe.”
“I have to think about it,” said DeDe.
“I know. Of course. There’s time.”
“It is exciting!”
“You betcha!” said D’orothea.
The Cooler
BURKE’S HANDS WERE TREMBLING WHEN HE SLIPPED the key into the slot on the control panel of the elevator. Mary Ann hovered over him. “Burke, jiggle it or something.
“I did. That’s it.” The key was only halfway in.
“Try it the other way, then.”
Burke removed the key and inserted it again. This time, it slid in effortlessly. Mary Ann let out a little yelp. Burke turned and beamed at her admiringly. “We can turn it to 2 or 3 now. What’ll it be?”
Without knowing why, Mary Ann chose 3.
Burke pushed the 3 button and the elevator began its slow ascent.
Mary Ann’s exhilaration gave way to gnawing fear again. “What if he’s up here, Burke? The transplant man.”
“We’ll play dumb,” shrugged Burke.
“Yeah. And we don’t know for sure that he even took the elevator.”
“He took it.” His grim certainty terrified Mary Ann.
“But why would someone who just sings in the choir have a key to this elevator?”
“Obviously,” said Burke flatly, “the same reason I had one.”
The elevator shook them when it stopped. The door opened. They stepped out into a space about the size of Mary Ann’s living room. There were no windows. A flickering fluorescent tube mounted on the wall next to the elevator cast a greenish light on the stacks of hymnals and
prayerbooks lining the room.
The only way out was a cast-iron spiral staircase.
Going up.
Mary Ann shuddered and stepped back into the elevator. “Burke … let’s try 2.”
Burke shook his head. “This is it.”
“This is what?”
“I don’t know. It just feels right somehow.”
“This room?”
“No.” He nodded toward the spiral staircase. “Up there.”
“Oh, God, Burke! Are you sure we ought to?”
His jaw was set, but his voice sounded thin and unsure. “I have to.”
“Maybe we could come back later or something.”
“No. I might lose my nerve.”
“But what if the transplant man is up there?”
Burke looked away from her. “He had time to come back down.”
“But what if …?”
“I’m going up, Mary Ann. You can do what you want. You’ve helped me enough already.”
She took his hand, silencing him. “I’ll come,” she said softly.
Burke went first. Mary Ann followed so closely that the back of his corduroy jacket kept grazing her face. They passed through the ceiling into a darker place. A much darker place. Mary Ann tugged on Burke’s coattail.
“We can’t even see, Burke.”
“It’s O.K.,” he whispered. “Our eyes’ll get used to it.”
The staircase continued to wind upwards. Some fifteen feet above the room with the prayerbooks they arrived at a kind of landing.
“We can’t go any higher,” said Burke.
“Burke, for God’s sake, let’s—”
“Wait.” She heard him fumbling with something. “I think there’s a door here.”
Suddenly, there was a door. It swung outward, blinding them momentarily with light. Both of them shrank from the sight that confronted them: A metal catwalk, stretching towards the altar. At least a hundred feet above the floor of the cathedral.
“I can’t,” said Mary Ann, without being asked.
“If I can, you can. Look, there’s a railing. There’s no way you can fall.”
“It isn’t a matter of—” The word “railing” was what silenced her. “Burke! A walkway with a railing! This is the place in your dream!”
“I repeat,” he said somberly. “If I can, you can.”