Read Online Further Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Armistead Maupin
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grooming brush, and a length of rope with a hand-made leather tag reading WHITEY . The top of the box said WHITEY in bent twigs.
Earlier, Prue had felt real resentment about this alien name; now, for some reason, she thought she might cry.
She fumbled in her bag. “Please … I insist on reimbursing you for your …”
“No,” said the man sharply. Then, in a sober tone: “The pleasure was mine.”
“Well …” She looked about her, suddenly at a loss for words. The man clipped the rope on Vuitton’s collar and handed it to Prue.
“Thank you,” she said as earnestly as possible. “Thank you so much … Luke, isn’t it?”
The man nodded. “If you’re ever back in these parts, I wouldn’t mind a visit from him.”
“Of course, of course …” She had nothing further to say as she led Vuitton away from the shack and up the steep, sandy slope. The wolfhound went willingly, barking his goodbye when they reached the top of the rise.
But the door of the shack was closed again.
Off to Hollywood
N ED LOCKWOOD’S PICKUP WAS PARKED ON LEAVENWORTH when Mary Ann came down the rickety wooden stairway from Barbary Lane. He offered her a jaunty salute, cupping his huge hand against his forehead. His bald pate was tanned the color of saddle leather.
“He’ll be down in a minute,” she said. “He’s trying to choose between fifteen different shades of Lacostes.”
Ned grinned and threw up his hands, bringing them to rest on the steering wheel. “So where are you off to?”
Mary Ann mugged. “Work. Not all of us get to spend the weekend with a movie star.” She held up a large Hefty Bag. “Care for a darling bow-wow?”
Ned looked into the bag. “Stuffed animals? What for?”
“My show. What else?”
“They’re some sort of bargain, huh?”
“Factory seconds. God, it’s so depressing, Ned. Get me out of here, will you? Abduct me or something. Hasn’t________got an extra cabana he could hide me in?”
Ned smiled. “I’m afraid it’s one of his all-boy weekends.”
“How dumb,” said Mary Ann.
“I think so, too. But he’s sort of an old-world fag.”
“Big deal. Couldn’t I be an old-world fag hag?”
Ned threw back his head and laughed. “I wish he could be that comfortable about it.”
Mary Ann managed a smile herself. “So you’re leaving me to my misery, huh?”
“You’re a star,” said Ned. “Stars aren’t supposed to be miserable.”
“Who’s a star?” A cheap ploy to fish for praise, but right now she’d take anything she could get.
The nurseryman shrugged. “My aunt in the East Bay says you’re a star. She watches your show all the time.”
“Harlequin glasses, right?”
Ned grinned.
“Not to mention Harlequin
books.
And a bedroom full of yarn poodles that she made on her doodle-loom. Am I right?”
“Actually,” said Ned, “she makes braided rugs out of old neckties.”
“Right,” nodded Mary Ann.
Michael appeared at the top of the stairway, decked out in an apricot Polo shirt, white linen trousers and emerald green Topsiders. “Get him,” said Ned. “Is that L.A. or what?”
Michael presented himself to Mary Ann for inspection.
“Very nice,” she remarked, “but you’ll be pitted out by the time you reach the pea soup place.”
“Then I’ll
change
at the pea soup place.” He pecked her on the mouth and sprang into the truck. “If I’m not back in three days, send in the Mounties.”
“Make him wear a bathing suit,” Mary Ann instructed Ned.
“That’s a tall order,” said the nurseryman.
“I know,” replied Mary Ann. “He almost burned his butt off last week at Lands End.”
As usual, there wasn’t a legal parking space within five blocks of the station. She finally settled on a commercial zone in an alley off Van Ness, leaving an outdated press pass on the dashboard of the car.
She hurried past the security guard, eating Cheetos at the front desk, and boarded the elevator where she stabbed the button for the third
Earlier, Prue had felt real resentment about this alien name; now, for some reason, she thought she might cry.
She fumbled in her bag. “Please … I insist on reimbursing you for your …”
“No,” said the man sharply. Then, in a sober tone: “The pleasure was mine.”
“Well …” She looked about her, suddenly at a loss for words. The man clipped the rope on Vuitton’s collar and handed it to Prue.
“Thank you,” she said as earnestly as possible. “Thank you so much … Luke, isn’t it?”
The man nodded. “If you’re ever back in these parts, I wouldn’t mind a visit from him.”
“Of course, of course …” She had nothing further to say as she led Vuitton away from the shack and up the steep, sandy slope. The wolfhound went willingly, barking his goodbye when they reached the top of the rise.
But the door of the shack was closed again.
Off to Hollywood
N ED LOCKWOOD’S PICKUP WAS PARKED ON LEAVENWORTH when Mary Ann came down the rickety wooden stairway from Barbary Lane. He offered her a jaunty salute, cupping his huge hand against his forehead. His bald pate was tanned the color of saddle leather.
“He’ll be down in a minute,” she said. “He’s trying to choose between fifteen different shades of Lacostes.”
Ned grinned and threw up his hands, bringing them to rest on the steering wheel. “So where are you off to?”
Mary Ann mugged. “Work. Not all of us get to spend the weekend with a movie star.” She held up a large Hefty Bag. “Care for a darling bow-wow?”
Ned looked into the bag. “Stuffed animals? What for?”
“My show. What else?”
“They’re some sort of bargain, huh?”
“Factory seconds. God, it’s so depressing, Ned. Get me out of here, will you? Abduct me or something. Hasn’t________got an extra cabana he could hide me in?”
Ned smiled. “I’m afraid it’s one of his all-boy weekends.”
“How dumb,” said Mary Ann.
“I think so, too. But he’s sort of an old-world fag.”
“Big deal. Couldn’t I be an old-world fag hag?”
Ned threw back his head and laughed. “I wish he could be that comfortable about it.”
Mary Ann managed a smile herself. “So you’re leaving me to my misery, huh?”
“You’re a star,” said Ned. “Stars aren’t supposed to be miserable.”
“Who’s a star?” A cheap ploy to fish for praise, but right now she’d take anything she could get.
The nurseryman shrugged. “My aunt in the East Bay says you’re a star. She watches your show all the time.”
“Harlequin glasses, right?”
Ned grinned.
“Not to mention Harlequin
books.
And a bedroom full of yarn poodles that she made on her doodle-loom. Am I right?”
“Actually,” said Ned, “she makes braided rugs out of old neckties.”
“Right,” nodded Mary Ann.
Michael appeared at the top of the stairway, decked out in an apricot Polo shirt, white linen trousers and emerald green Topsiders. “Get him,” said Ned. “Is that L.A. or what?”
Michael presented himself to Mary Ann for inspection.
“Very nice,” she remarked, “but you’ll be pitted out by the time you reach the pea soup place.”
“Then I’ll
change
at the pea soup place.” He pecked her on the mouth and sprang into the truck. “If I’m not back in three days, send in the Mounties.”
“Make him wear a bathing suit,” Mary Ann instructed Ned.
“That’s a tall order,” said the nurseryman.
“I know,” replied Mary Ann. “He almost burned his butt off last week at Lands End.”
As usual, there wasn’t a legal parking space within five blocks of the station. She finally settled on a commercial zone in an alley off Van Ness, leaving an outdated press pass on the dashboard of the car.
She hurried past the security guard, eating Cheetos at the front desk, and boarded the elevator where she stabbed the button for the third
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