Read Online Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You by Armistead Maupin - Free Book Online Page B

street clothes, pleasant looking but unextraordinary, as if the commuters on a BART train had acted on a sudden urge to waltz with one another. Fat and skinny, short and tall, couples of every configuration swirled around the room in a counterclockwise tide to the music of Randy Travis.
I’m gonna love you forever—
Forever and ever , Amen:
As long as old men live to talk about the weather—
As long as old women live to talk about old men.
    Grinning uncontrollably, Michael found a stool at the bar and sat down. “What do you want?” he asked, since Thack was undoubtedly headed for the john. He peed about as often as a dog in a palm grove.
    “Beer,” said Thack. “Miller’s, I guess.”
    “O.K.”
    “Do you see it?” He meant the men’s room.
    “It’s the one marked Studs.” Michael rolled his eyes. “As opposed to Fillies.”
    “How sexist,” said Thack.
    When he had gone, Michael ordered the drinks. As providence would have it, his beeper went off just as his Calistoga arrived. The bartender smiled at him. “Another bionic man.”
    Michael mugged ruefully. “It usually goes off on a coatrack somewhere.” He dug out his pillbox and popped two, chasing them with the Calistoga. When he was done, the man on the stool next to him gave him a knowing look, then tapped the pocket of his Pendleton.
    “I’m set to go off any second.”
    Michael smiled. “Last night at Big Business , there were enough to start a symphony.”
    The man had dark, expressive eyes and the sweet E.T.ish quality Michael had come to associate with guys who’d been sick for a long time.
    “Do you take the middle-of-the-night dose?” Michael asked.
    The man shook his head.
    “Me either. Double doses at seven and eleven?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How’s it going?”
    The man shrugged. “I’ve got six T-cells.”
    Michael nodded and counted his own blessings in silence. The last time he checked, he had three hundred and ten.
    “I’m feeling real possessive about them,” said the man. “I may start giving them names.”
    Michael chuckled. “You’ve said that before.”
    “Not tonight,” said the man.

    Thack returned and leaned against Michael’s stool, beer in hand. They watched the dance floor in silence as couple after couple revolved into view. This time the song was called “Memories to Burn.”
    “Look at her,” said Thack. “Get a load of her.”
    The object of his amazement was pantsuited, plump, and seventysomething. A tiny, pink-sequined sombrero was affixed to the side of her lilac hair, and she seemed to be enjoying herself no end. Her partner was a man about forty years her junior.
    “She’s a stitch,” said Michael.
    “She’s all yours,” said the man with six T-cells.
    Michael turned and smiled at him. “You know her?”
    “I guess so. She’s my mother.”
    “Well…” Michael reddened. “She’s sure having a good time.”
    “Isn’t she?”
    Thack laughed. “She looks like a regular.”
    The man grunted. “A regular what , we won’t say.”
    “Does she live here?” Michael asked.
    “She does now. She came out here five years ago from Havasu City. When I got sick.”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “I guess she thought I didn’t have too long, but…surprise, surprise.”
    “She lives with you, then?” asked Thack.
    “Oh, Lord, no. She lives with a friend of hers from Havasu City. The friend has a son here too.”
    “Oh.”
    “The two of ’em are real party animals.” He smiled dimly. “She knows more queers than I do.”
    Thack laughed. The old lady twirled into view for a moment, waggled her fingers at her son, and twirled off again.
    “She’s subdued tonight,” he said. “She’s got a whole outfit that goes with that hat.”
    “You know…” Michael’s brow furrowed. “I think I’ve seen her before.”
    The man looked at him. “You play bingo at Holy Redeemer?”
    “No.”
    “How ’bout the Bare Chest Contest at the Eagle?”
    Michael laughed. “She goes to that?”
    “Never