DeDe heaved a long sigh. “She did stay, Prue.”
“What?”
“She was sound asleep,” said DeDe.
“Then, maybe Emma …”
“Emma sat up all night, watching the house.”
“And she didn’t see him?”
“That’s right,” said DeDe. “He never showed up.”
Buffaloes in London
AFTER LEAVING PRUE’S APARTMENT, DEDE AND MARY Ann took the twins to breakfast at Mama’s in Gramercy Towers. A hot meal and the sound of laughing children did wonders for Mary Ann’s faltering spirits.
The ordeal, she realized, was finally over.
“It’s a great story,” she remarked, “even without … him.”
DeDe wiped a blob of jelly off Edgar’s chin. “I’ll do all I can to help. Give us a few days, O.K.?”
“Sure.”
“Do you still want to do it on your movie show?” asked DeDe.
“I’m not sure about that,” said Mary Ann. “Do you mind including the children, by the way?”
DeDe hesitated, then smiled. “Of course not. Not after what you’ve done.” She turned to the twins. “Hey, you guys … wanna be on TV with Mary Ann?”
The children cheered.
“There’s your answer,” smiled DeDe.
“Great,” said Mary Ann.
Edgar tugged on his mother’s arm. “Can Dad be on TV, too?”
After a pregnant pause, DeDe said: “Dad?”
“Can he?” asked Anna, lending support to her brother.
DeDe looked from one child to the other, then said quietly: “Do you mean Mr. Starr?”
Both heads nodded, eyes wider than ever. Mary Ann turned and waited with them for DeDe’s answer.
“Darling,” said DeDe, “Mr. Starr has gone back to London. We won’t be seeing him for a while.”
“Why?” asked Anna.
“Well … because that’s where he lives. He was just on vacation when you met him on the ship. His house is in London.”
“His house is neat,” said Anna.
DeDe stared at the little girl. “What, darling?”
“He has chipmunkies,” said Anna.
Edgar corrected her. “Chipmunks.”
Anna stuck her tongue out at her brother. “And buffaloes,” she added defiantly.
“And a great big windmill,” said Edgar, upping her one.
“It’s in Japan,” Anna revealed. “He has a bridge in his yard that goes way high up in the air.”
“Right,” said DeDe. She cast a wry glance in Mary Ann’s direction. “There’s no telling what that bastard told them.” Then she turned back to the children. “You guys ready to go home?”
“Where?” asked Edgar. A damn good point, thought Mary Ann.
“To Gangie’s house,” replied DeDe.
The children said yes.
They spoke their parting words in the garage next to L’Etoile. DeDe waited there for her Mercedes—Mary Ann, her Le Car.
“You’ve been an angel,” said DeDe, sounding oddly like a clubwoman from the peninsula.
Mary Ann smiled ruefully. “Glad to help.”
“Right,” grinned DeDe.
The Mercedes arrived. DeDe held the door while the twins scrambled into the front seat. When she slid behind the wheel, Mary Ann leaned down and spoke to her.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“What?” asked DeDe.
“You know. If we got the right guy.”
DeDe shook her head.
“Why? Because we didn’t?”
DeDe smiled. “If we didn’t, I don’t want you to suffer because of it. You’ve done enough already.”
“What if we did?”
DeDe shrugged. “I don’t want you to be tempted.”
“Tempted?”
“You know,” said DeDe. “By the story.”
“DeDe … I’m your friend. I would never betray the trust….”
“I know. And you’d never forgive yourself either. How could you? You’re a journalist.”
“I am?”
DeDe grabbed her hand and kissed it. “You are.”
“Thanks,” said Mary Ann.
“Don’t mention it,” said DeDe.
It was almost noon when Mary Ann dragged herself up the stairway at 28 Barbary Lane. As she slipped her key into the lock, she heard Mrs. Madrigal’s distinctive footsteps behind her.
“Dear … is that you?”
“It’s me,” said Mary Ann.
The landlady’s eyes were bloodshot.
“Good God,” said Mary Ann. “Is something …?”
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Madrigal. “I have something unpleasant to tell you.”
Lucking Out
A SENSE OF DÉJÁ VU, ALMOST INDISTINGUISHABLE from nausea, swept over Mary Ann as she and Mrs. Madrigal strode through the lobby of St. Sebastian’s Hospital.
It was here that Michael had been treated for Guillain-Barré almost five years before. Here, too, was the sinister flower shop where the man with the transplant had secreted body parts for the cannibal cult at Grace Cathedral.
The most macabre memory, however, was a fixture of the hospital itself: an antique portrait of St. Sebastian, shot through with arrows, proudly displayed on the wall above the reception desk.
Mrs. Madrigal took Mary Ann’s arm and steered her away from the holy man. “C’mon, dear. I know the way. This place is too Catholic for words.”
They rode the elevator to the third floor. When they emerged, Jon was waiting for him. The very sight of him cracked the bland veneer that Mary Ann had assumed for the ride to the hospital.
She fell into his arms, weeping.
“A helluva way to come home, huh?” He laid his hand gently on the crown of her head.
“Are they awake?” she asked.
“Brian is,” said the doctor. “Michael nodded off about an hour ago.” He turned to Mrs. Madrigal. “Did you fill her in on the particulars?”
“As best I could,” said the landlady.
“His lung was punctured,” Jon told Mary Ann. “That was the worst part. It was a surprisingly small puncture, though … all things considered.”
It sounded awful to Mary Ann. “Did they sew it up or what?”
Jon shook his head. “It wasn’t that bad. It should heal on its own. He’s got a tube in him so that can happen. It isn’t as bad as it looks, Mary Ann. That’s the main thing you should know.”
“But I thought they … did it three times.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
“Two of the blows glanced off his ribs,” said Jon. “There were plenty of stitches, but they were all in the chest wall. He’s breathing normally now….” He smiled at her. “I expect that’ll change when he sees you.”
“What about Michael?”
“An enormous goose egg, mostly. Half-a-dozen stitches. He’s O.K…. or he will be soon.” He looked at Mary Ann earnestly. “We lucked out, didn’t we?”
“If you can call it that,” said Mary Ann.
“We can,” said Jon. “We have to.”
Brian’s head was turned towards the window when Mary Ann entered the room. His chest was a mass of bandages. The tubes sprouting from the hole in his side led to a sort of suction cannister on the floor beside the bed.
As he breathed, a thing that looked oddly like a Ping-Pong ball bobbed about erratically in the canister. Another tube (an IV, she presumed) led from a bedside pole into Brian’s arm.
Michael was sleeping in the other bed, an enormous bandage crowning his head.
“It’s me,” said Mary Ann.
Brian rolled his head over and smiled at her. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Mary Ann moved cautiously towards the bed, feeling his wounds with every step. “Is there anything I can kiss?” she asked.
A large tear rolled down Brian’s cheek. “Just stand there and let me look at you.”
She stood there awkwardly, hands at her sides. “How
’s this?”
“Just fine,” he smiled.
“Shall I show a little leg?”
She had never seen a grown man laugh and cry at the same time. “Jesus,” he sobbed, “I love you so much!”
“Brian, damnit … if I start blubbering …”
“I can’t help it. I’ve never been so goddamn glad to see somebody in my whole life!”
She grabbed a Kleenex from the bedside table and stood over him, blotting his cheeks. “Hush now … I’m back. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Brian.”
“What are you talking about? How could you have known?”
“I know, but you needed me and …”
“To hell with that. Did you find the kids?”
Mary Ann nodded. “We found them.”
“They’re O.K.?”
“They’re fine,” said Mary Ann.
“Then you did good.”
Mary Ann turned the Kleenex on her own face and blew her nose noisily. “How long will they keep you here?” she asked.
“Two weeks,” said Brian. “Maybe three.”
“Then, let’s do it here.”
“What?”
“The wedding,” said Mary Ann. “Remember?”
“Sure … but …”
“Yeah?”
“Well, you wanted a garden wedding.”
“Fuck the garden. I wanna be married to you. Do you wanna be married to me?”
“I do,” said Brian.
Mary Ann beamed. “I’ll tell Mrs. Madrigal.”
Michael’s Doctor
MICHAEL SLIPPED INTO THE HALLWAY TO FIND JON reading a Highlights magazine next to the nurse’s station.
“Hey,” said the doctor, “you’re supposed to be prone, sport.”
Michael sat down next to him, wearing only his hospital smock. “Whoa!” he yelped, stiffening as his bare butt collided with cold plastic.
Jon grinned. “They’re not for patients.”
“What? The chair or the dress?”
The doctor pointed to Michael’s room, admonishing him with his eyes.
“In a minute,” said Michael. “I thought the lovebirds could use a little privacy. Anyway … stop being such a doctor.”
Jon shrugged. “I’m not in white, am I?”
“You’re on the verge … I can tell. Why don’t you get some sleep, Jon? How long have you been here, anyway?”
“I’m all right,” said Jon. “I’ll go home with Mary Ann when she leaves.”
“Did Mrs. Madrigal go home?”
Jon nodded. “It’s past time for Bambi’s lunch.”
“Jesus,” groaned Michael. “I completely forgot about that little drama!”
“Didn’t we all?”
“Mary Ann says that’s next on her agenda … now that the twins are back. Did you hear from the police, by the way? Anything new, I mean?”
Jon shook his head. “I don’t expect there will be. No license number, no solid description. The people who found you didn’t reach the police until half-an-hour after the attack. I think we’ve got to write it off, Michael.”
Michael’s eyes glazed over.
“Hey,” said Jon. “You with me, sport?”
“Yeah.”
“It was an awful thing, Michael, but you can’t let it get the best of you. Don’t let those bastards change the way you look at life. Hey, sport … look at me.”
Michael’s lower lip was trembling uncontrollably. Tears flooded his face. “I know, Jon … it isn’t that. It’s just …”
“What?”
“Do you think they blame me?”
Jon blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Who?”
“Mary Ann and Brian.”
“Michael … what in the world are you talking about?”
“Well,” answered Michael, his voice quavering. “Those guys who jumped us … they thought we were both gay … and … if I hadn’t been there …”
“Jesus,” muttered Jon.
“No, listen … they were just plain wrong about Brian. They had even less reason to attack him than me. But he got the worst of it. He …”
“Even less reason, huh? Meaning, I suppose, that they had at least a marginal reason to attack you? Is that what you think, Michael? Do you really believe that you deserved to get it more than Brian did?”
“Jon … I don’t …”
“Goddamnit, Michael! How dare you talk like that? Brian doesn’t think that. Mary Ann certainly doesn’t. You’re the biggest homophobe in the family. What the hell does gay have to do with anything?”
Michael looked at him imploringly, eyes brimming with tears. “Jon … please … I came out here for a hug.”
A hug was what he got. “Listen to me,” said Jon, speaking directly into Michael’s ear, “you taught me everything I know about being happy with myself. Don’t poop out on me now, kiddo.”
“Jon, I just can’t keep …”
“Yes you can,” said the doctor. “You’re the toughest little fucker I know. You’re right out there on the battle lines … and that’s where I want you to stay. Christ, Michael … I’m the guy who wouldn’t let you kiss him in airports.”
Silence.
“I’m different now,” Jon added. “You’re the one who changed me.”
Michael pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. “Who have you been kissing in airports?”
Jon faked nonchalance. “Oh … lots of people.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Wanna try for a hospital?”
They kissed for almost half-a-minute until the head nurse returned to her station.
She cleared her throat noisily. “If you don’t mind, gentlemen.”
Jon looked up at her and smiled. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m a doctor.”
Options
WHEN MARY ANN DESCENDED THE STAIRS TO THE basement, she found Bambi curled—no, coiled—on an ancient sofa Mrs. Madrigal had provided for her comfort.
She looked up sullenly, a long shadow falling across her face.
“You’re gonna pay for this,” she said ominously.
“I suppose so,” said Mary Ann.
“I’m not talking job, lady—I’m talking criminal action. Your ass is grass, Mary Ann.”
It was creepy to see how much of Larry Kenan’s pig lingo Bambi could appropriate for her own use.
Mary pulled up a chair. A safe distance away. “I thought we should … discuss things first.”
“Tell it to the police,” snarled Bambi.
“Do it yourself,” countered Mary Ann. “The door is open.”
The anchorwoman cast a quick glance up the stairs.
“You’re free to go,” said Mary Ann.
Bambi’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is still a kidnapping, you know. Just because you’re turning me loose doesn’t mean …”
“I know.”
“And just because somebody else did it for you …”
“I know that, too.” Mary Ann smiled sweetly. “So, haul ass, lady.” She jerked her head jauntily towards the stairs. “Give my love to Larry … while you’re at it. The poor jerk thinks you’re out on a hot story. I’d hate to be the one to disillusion him.”
“You’re gonna hate it even more when … What did you tell him?”
“Just that,” shrugged Mary Ann. “That you and I were out chasing the scoop of the year.”
“DeDe Day?”
Mary Ann nodded, smiling.
“I Xeroxed those notes, you know.” Bambi’s sneer was almost obscene. “Stealing my purse was the stupidest thing you could’ve done. That story is still ours, Mary Ann. All it takes is a phone call to the station.”
“What a coincidence,” said Mary Ann. “Those were my exact words to DeDe.”
Silence.
“We were talking about a different station, of course.”
Bambi glared at her murderously. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” said Mary blithely. “My ass is grass, right? I’d get
a much warmer reception at Channel 5. And let’s face it … there is no story without DeDe and the kids. Is there?”
Silence.
“That’s why I thought we should have a little discussion first. I wanted you to know what your options are … before you screw this up completely.” Another smile, more sugary than the first.
“Go ahead,” muttered Bambi.
“Well,” said Mary Ann, “you can press charges, like you said. That’ll simply force me to explain publicly why we felt a moral obligation to hold you here until DeDe was certain that her children were out of harm’s way. That won’t look very pretty, Bambi. It wasn’t your story in the first place. That’s easy enough to prove.”
“A story is a story,” growled the newscaster.
“Exactly,” said Mary Ann. “And I’m prepared to share this one with you.”
Bambi gave her a long distrusting look. “You are?”
“With you or Wendy Tokuda. Take your pick.” The coil tightened. “I wanna know what ‘harm’s way’ was.”
Mary Ann blinked at her. “Huh?”
“You said, ‘when the children were out of harm’s way.’ What possible threat could justify your locking me in a cellar for three days?”
“The threat was you! The press! DeDe is my friend. She’s made some dumb mistakes, but she’s a good woman and I like her. She wanted time to breathe, that’s all. A month of serenity with her mother and children. Is that too much to ask for a woman who escaped from Guyana in a fish barrel?”
“What about that double, then?”
“What about him? She says an imposter was trained while she was still in Jonestown … but she left days before the massacre. It’s definitely worth mentioning. I’d count on being shot down, though.”
“Why?”
Mary Ann nailed her with a glance. “Do you think Jim Jones is still alive?”
Bambi scowled and looked away. “So what do you want to do about this?”
“All right: I want you to sign a paper certifying your willing tenancy at 28 Barbary Lane over the past few days …”
“Just a second!”
“I’m not finished. Since it’s obvious that you and I have been out interviewing DeDe for the past few days—got that—you couldn’t possibly have been locked in the basement of 28 Barbary Lane. This was simply your command post. I think that sounds pretty damn glamorous myself.”
Further Tales of the City Page 28
