“Fire the damn police.”
Stratos smiled warmly, showing a gold tooth. “The police are the national police. They are right-wing.”
This made no sense to her. “The right wing hates rock-and-roll.”
“Yes, but the police hate the mayor. The mayor is communist, and they have no wish to help him in any way. The mayor has appealed to the police, but they are indifferent. This is not their regime, so…” He shrugged to finish it off.
“But this is their village. Everybody’s gonna suffer in the end. People come here for peace and quiet, not for Bruce Fucking Springsteen. They’ll stop coming.”
“Yes.” Stratos remained placid in the face of her outburst. “And the mayor will be blamed, you see. The communist regime will be blamed.”
Mona groaned. “Disco Wars in the Aegean.”
“Ah,” said Stratos, raising eyebrows that looked like albino caterpillars. “Here is your mother.”
Mona looked over her shoulder to see Anna striding down the esplanade, tanned and majestic in her linen caftan. It was gathered at the waist with a lavender scarf—a recent purchase, apparentlys—and her hair was up and spiked with her favorite chopsticks. There was even purple eye shadow to match the new scarf.
“Stratos,” said Anna, extending her hand. “What a pleasant surprise.”
For a split second, Mona thought he was going to kiss it, but he simply bowed and said: “It’s a very small village.”
“Yes,” said Anna, smiling demurely. “I suppose so.” She descended gracefully into a chair and folded one hand across the other on the table. Such a femme, thought Mona. “Will you join us for dinner, Stratos? I’m sure we’d both be delighted if you would.”
“He asked us,” Mona told her. “I said we would already.”
“Oh.” Anna seemed to redden slightly. “How nice.”
Stratos gestured toward the retsina. “I took the liberty. I hope you don’t…”
“Wonderful,” said Anna, holding out the empty glass.
Stratos poured rather elegantly. “Mona has been telling me about your unpleasantness with the disco.”
“Oh, yes,” said Anna. “Can you hear it where you live?”
He shook his head. “Not much. My house is protected by the hillside.”
“Lucky you,” said Anna. “We’re just above it. The sound bounces off the water and heads straight for our place. There’s a sort of amphitheater effect, I suppose.”
“It will end soon,” he said.
Mona was irked by his typical Greek complacency. “I’m gonna cut the wires one night.”
Anna gave her an indulgent little smile, then turned to Stratos and said: “My daughter is an anarchist, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“She thinks I’m kidding,” said Mona.
Stratos chuckled and raised his glass in Mona’s direction. “Perhaps I will join you. We will be guerrilla patriots.”
Mona clicked her glass against his. “Death to disco,” she said.
During dinner, four or five cats climbed down from the wall and did a weird little gavotte around Anna’s legs. “This one reminds me of Boris,” she said, tossing a scrap of fish to an ancient tabby. “Do you remember him?”
Mona nodded. “Is he still alive?”
“No.” Anna looked wistful. “No, he’s gone. I have Rupert now.”
Stratos filled their glasses again. “Did you tell Mona about Pelopi?”
“No,” came Anna’s soft reply. “Not yet.”
Was she blushing, Mona wondered, or was that just the sunset? “What’s Pelopi?”
“It’s a village in the mountains. Stratos has kindly offered to…show it to me.”
“Oh.”
Stratos said: “It is the birthplace of the father of Michael Dukakis.”
“Oh…right.”
How could she have forgotten about Pelopi? The taverns of Molivos were abuzz with media pilgrims on their way to the sacred birthsite. Several local farm trucks even sported Dukakis bumper stickers. The mayor of Molivos, it was said, had already made plans to ship a traditional Lesbian dance troupe to the White House in the event of a Democratic victory.
She wasn’t holding her breath.
“Stratos says it’s lovely,” Anna put in, giving Mona a meaningful look. “His cousin has a house there.”
“That’s nice. Another day trip, then?”
“Well…no. We thought we’d stay over.”
Nodding slowly, Mona saw the light.
Of course. They were fucking. Or at least wanted to be very soon. How could she have been so thick?
Anna regarded her peacefully with a slight, beatific smile, which said: Don’t make me spell it out.
“It is much smaller than here,” said Stratos. “Very beautiful.”
Mona nodded. “Is your cousin away or something?” “Mona, dear…”
She flashed her parent a crooked smile, acknowledging the conquest. That it was Anna, and not her dyke daughter, who was about to be laid on the Sapphic isle was an irony lost on neither one of them.
Oh, well. This was what you got for believing in brand names.
“So,” Stratos jumped in, “you will have the villa to yourself for a few days.”
“Fine.” She smiled at them both. “No problem. Have a good time.” After thinking for a moment, she added: “But don’t leave on my account.”
“We’re not, dear.”
“Because I can always take a room…”
“I’m leaving on my own account,” said Anna, cutting her off with a vengeance. “I’m eager to see Pelopi.”
“Mmm. Well, I can see why.”
Her parent gave her a hooded look.
“That’s pretty awe-inspiring. The birthplace of Dukakis’s father.” Mona shook her head in mock amazement, enjoying herself to the fullest.
Anna avoided this gentle harassment by staring at the big greasy clock on the wall of the Mermaid. Eventually she asked: “What time is it in San Francisco?”
Mona did some quick arithmetic. “Uh…nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Oh, good.” Anna rose suddenly and gave Stratos an apologetic look. “Would you be a dear and keep my daughter company for about ten minutes?”
“With pleasure.” Stratos’s smile turned cloudy after a moment. “Nothing is wrong, I hope?”
“No, no. Not a thing. I just want to call the children.” Anna turned back to Mona. “I’ll just dash up the phone lady and be back in three shakes. We’ll all go someplace for dessert.”
She gave them both a final glance and hurried off into the gathering dark.
The waiter appeared, distressed about Anna’s departure. Mona assured him she would return, then ordered a Sprite-and-ouzo.
“What about you?” she asked Stratos.
He shook his head.
The waiter left.
“You have brothers and sisters?” Straws asked.
Mona smiled at him and shook her head. “She calls her tenants her children.”
The old man absorbed this without changing his expression.
“She runs an apartment house,” Mona explained. “I guess she told you that already?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Stratos said: “I have an idea for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Perhaps…if the disco noise is too much for you at the villa…you should go to Skala Eressou.”
Mona blinked at him, wondering if Anna’s sudden trip to the phone lady had been a setup. Were they trying to get rid of her, after all?
“There is a beach there,” he added.
“Like this one?” This sounded harsher than she’d intended, but the local strip was a horror—narrow, rocky, and strewn with garbage.
“No,” he replied. “With beautiful sand. It is a simple place, but I think you might like it.”
She decided that he was just being nice. Still, she wanted to stay put at the villa. It was paid for,
after all, and this “simple place” might be even less exciting than here. “Thanks,” she told him, “but I’m O.K.”
“It is the birthplace of Sappho, and there are many tents on the beach.”
“Tents?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What sort of tents?”
“Many women…feminists…from everywhere. Many more than here.”
She studied the face, but it betrayed nothing.
“Perhaps you would like it,” he said.
She gave him a slow-blooming smile. “Perhaps I would.”
The Wave Organ
BENEATH THE BLUE PORCELAIN DOME OF NOE VALLEY A lone kite chased its rainbow tail. Mary Ann watched it for a moment, admiring its reckless indecision, then swung the Mercedes into Michael’s driveway. October’s false springtime gave her an unexpected surge of optimism. The task ahead of her might not be as terrible as she’d once imagined.
Thack called from the garden. “He’ll be right out.” He was on a ladder, nailing planks to the side of the house.
“Thanks.”
“You’ve got a nice day for it, looks like.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It does.” It occurred to her that he could be very pleasant when he wanted to. “What’s that you’re building?”
“Just a trellis.”
“It looks interesting.”
“Well…it will. I hope.”
Michael hollered at her from the doorway. “Do I need a jacket?”
“No way.”
Seconds later, he bounded out of the house in cords and an ancient pale-green Madras shirt, that yappy little poodle toe-dancing around his heels. “No, Harry. You’re staying here, poopie. Stay. Here. Understand?”
“Has he been walked?” Thack asked, gazing down from the ladder.
“This morning. To the p-a-r-k.” Michael grinned at Mary Ann as he climbed into the car. “We have to spell around him, or he gets unnecessarily excited.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
He laughed. “Only, Shawna can spell, remember?”
“Yeah. We’re thinking of having that fixed.”
She joined in his laughter as they pulled out of the driveway. He always made her feel so reckless.
Down at the marina, they parked in the lot next to the yacht club. The bay was anemic with sails, the volleyballers so jammed onto the west end of the green that they seemed to be playing a single, riotous game. Michael suggested they walk out the seawall to the Wave Organ, which suited her fine, since there were less people out there and she needed all the privacy she could get.
She had done a short feature on the Wave Organ once, but she had never actually seen it. It was basically a series of plastic pipes that ran underwater and surfaced at a stone terrace at the end of the seawall. By pressing an ear against one of several openings on the terrace, you could hear the “music” of the organ, the very harmonies of the sea itself, if you believed the press releases.
Michael knelt by one of the openings.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Well…interesting.”
“Does it sound like music?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
She found a neighboring outlet, sort of a stone periscope, and listened for herself. All she heard was a hollow hiss, overlaid with a lapping noise. Not exactly a symphony of Neptune.
“Maybe it’s better when the tide changes.” As usual, Michael refused to abandon his fantasies.
“What is it now? High or low?”
“Who knows?” He looked around, assessing the structure.
“The design is nice, though. It’s kind of neoclassical postmodern. I like those carved stones.”
“They’re from cemeteries,” she told him.
“They are?”
“That’s what I heard.”
He sat down in an alcove and caressed the contours of the stones. Joining him, she gazed out at the billowing sails, the gulls swooping low over the water. After a silence, she said: “I’m sorry we’ve lost touch lately.”
“That’s O.K.”
“My schedule gets the best of me sometimes.”
“I know.”
“Brian fills me in on you, so…I feel connected somehow.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “He does that for me too.”
“I don’t want us to drift apart, Mouse. I count on you for too much.”
He studied her for a moment. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”
She shook her head.
“What is it, then?”
“Burke has offered me a job.”
“A job?”
“In New York. As host of a syndicated talk show.”
He took a while to absorb this, but he seemed more amazed than horrified. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Like…national?”
“Yes.”
“Hot damn!”
“Isn’t it incredible?”
“Are you taking it?” he asked.
“Looks like it. Burke doesn’t know that yet, but I’ve pretty much decided.”
“What does Brian think?”
“I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to sort things out first.”
A couple approached, checking out the Wave Organ. “How is it?” asked the woman.
“Iffy,” Michael told her.
The man pressed his head against one of the stone periscopes. He was wearing enough polyester to have been a member of Mary Ann’s studio audience. “What are you supposed to hear?” he asked.
“We’re not sure,” said Mary Ann.
The man listened for a while, then grunted and walked away. This was apparently enough for his wife, who didn’t bother to listen. As they left, she stopped abruptly in front of Mary Ann. “I have to tell you,” she said. “I loved your show on phone sex.”
Mary Ann did her best to be gracious. “That’s very sweet of you.”
The woman fled, her message delivered, joining her husband as he left the seawall.
Michael turned and grinned at her. “Are you sure you want to be bigger than this?”
She pressed her finger to her temple and pretended to ponder the issue.
“O.K.,” he said. “Stupid question.”
This was what she loved about him. He could wriggle in closer to her real self than anyone she had ever known. He could stay there longer too, snuggled up against her burning ambition like a cat against a coal stove.
“Will you be…like the main host?”
She nodded. “They’re gonna keep the name. Mary Ann in the Morning.”
“Perfect. How star-making.”
“Isn’t it?”
“So what’s the problem?” he asked. “Are you afraid that Brian won’t want to go?”
“No,” she answered. “I’m afraid that he will.”
His face remained composed, but he obviously understood.
“I don’t love him anymore, Mouse. I haven’t loved him for a long time.”
Looking away, he said “Shit” so softly that it sounded like a prayer.
“I know how this must seem to you. We haven’t exactly talked about…”
“What about Shawna?”
She paused to measure out her words. “I wouldn’t take her away from him. She belongs here as much as he does.”
He nodded.
“Even if I did still…feel something, it wouldn’t be fair to make him leave. The nursery means more to him than anything he’s ever done. He wouldn’t be happy in New York. It’s a whole different world. You saw him the other night with the Rands.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“Nothing was wrong. He just wasn’t…comfortable. It’s not his game; it never has been. He says so himself, all the time.” She searched Michael’s long-lashed brown eyes for a response. “You know that’s true. It would kill him to be reduced to being my escort again.”
“Yeah,” he replied, somewhat absently.
“There was a time w
hen we had something, but it just isn’t there anymore.”
He kept his eyes on the water. “Are you still in love with Burke?”
She had expected this, of course. “No. Not a bit.”
“Is he in love with you?”
She gave him a small, ironic smile. “I’m not sure he even likes me. This is business, Mouse. I swear. Nothing else.”
Michael watched a gull as it trooped solemnly along the edge of the seawall. “How long has it been like this?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must.”
“No,” she said. “It sort of crept up on me. It was a lot of little things that just added up. It’s not like I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
“But the talk-show thing forced the issue?”
“Well, it made things clearer. I saw how long I’ve been settling for less than the whole package. I need a partner, Mouse. Someone who dreams about the same things.” Suddenly, she felt hot tears welling behind her eyes. “Sometimes I look at Connie Chung and Maury Povich and get so jealous.”
“Do you want a divorce?”
“I don’t know. Not for a while. It might just complicate things. This would be more like Dolly Parton.”
He obviously didn’t understand.
“You know. She has a husband back in Tennessee, doesn’t she? Who digs ditches or something?”
“Paves driveways.”
“Whatever,” she said.
“So…a separation?”
“I want whatever’s easiest on everybody, that’s all.”
“Maybe you should wait, then. See how this job turns out.”
“No. How fair would that be? It’s over, Mouse. He has to know that. There’s just no other way out.” She began to sob, mangling her words. “I’m not a monster. I just can’t…make him give up his life here for…something that isn’t working anymore.”
“I understand.”
She dug a Kleenex from her purse and blew her nose. “Do you? Really?”
“Yes.”
“I was so afraid that you wouldn’t. That you’d hate me for this. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”
“When have you ever lost me?”
“I don’t want to now,” she said. “Especially not now.”
He slipped his arm gently around her waist. “When are you gonna tell him?”
Sure of You Page 12
