“This is amazing,” said Connie.
“What?”
“Well … I’ve seen you on TV. You look so hip.”
“Connie … it’s me, Mary Ann. Remember? Vice-president of the Future Homemakers of America?”
“Yeah, but you’ve changed a lot.”
“Not that much,” said Mary Ann. “Believe me.”
“Mary Ann! She’s doin’ it!” It was her cameraman, bearer of glad tidings.
She sprang to her feet. “That’s my cue.”
Two minutes later, the wet cub plopped onto the concrete floor without so much as a tiny grunt from his mother.
“Animals have it so easy,” said Connie, watching from the sidelines.
Mary Ann spent the rest of the afternoon editing footage at the station. As she headed home at twilight, the security guard in the lobby handed her a manila envelope. “A lady said to give you this.”
“What kind of a lady?”
“A pregnant lady.”
“Great.”
She didn’t open it until she had reached the Le Car, parked in an alleyway off Van Ness. Inside the envelope were two brochures with a note attached:
Mary Ann—Don’t get mad, O.K.? I’m leaving you these cuz I thought they might explain things better than I did. Just between you and I, Wally was a little ticked when he found out I didn’t give you some literature first. Let’s get together real soon. Luff ya. Connie.
She couldn’t decide what annoyed her more—Connie’s chronic breeziness (a style she had picked up years before from inscribing dozens of Central High yearbooks) or the realization that Brian’s sterility was now a topic of major concern to the entire Bradshaw family.
She began to read:
We believe that women have the right to control our own reproduction and in doing so, determine if, when and how to achieve pregnancy. Donor insemination is a process of introducing semen into the vaginal canal or cervix with a device for the purpose of fertilizing an egg and achieving pregnancy. Fresh or thawed-out frozen semen can be used.
Its safety and effectiveness have been well established.
Currently in the U.S., 15–200,000 children a year are conceived by insemination. Since WWII, well over 300,000 children have been born as a result of this method, and since 1776, when the technique of freezing sperm was developed, over a million children have been …
Shuddering, she put down the brochure. Frozen sperm during the Revolutionary War? Where had that happened? Valley Forge? Brian had been right about one thing, at least; 1984 was almost here. Something had gone haywire if science had advanced to the point that babies could be made without sexual intimacy.
No. She couldn’t do it.
If this was the future, she wasn’t ready for it.
She would tell Brian the truth. They would go somewhere for the weekend. She would be gentle and loving and he would accept it. Maybe not at first, but eventually. He would have to accept it; there was no other way.
It was dark by the time she got home. As she fumbled for her key in the entrance alcove, she spotted yet another manila envelope, propped on the ledge above the buzzers. She was ready to scream when she realized it was addressed to Mouse. Taking it with her, she went upstairs and knocked on Mouse’s door.
“Come in.”
He was leaning over his sofa, arranging clothes in a suitcase. “Hi, Babycakes.”
“Hi. Somebody left this at the front door.” She laid the envelope on a chair.
He glanced at it, still packing, “Must be Ned’s bon voyage package. He said he was dropping something by.”
“Ah.”
“Sit down,” he said. “Talk to me.”
She sat down, noticing another suitcase on the floor. “You’re taking an awful lot for a month, aren’t you?”
“Just this bag,” he answered.
“What about that one?” She pointed to the suitcase on the floor.
“Oh.” He grinned. “That’s Simon’s. He left it here a little while ago. He’s having dinner down at Washington Square.”
“I see.”
He gave her an impish sideways glance. “Why didn’t you tell me what a hunk he is?”
She shrugged, commanding herself not to blush. “You didn’t ask.”
“I was expecting one of those horse-faced dudes with big ears and crooked teeth. This guy looks like a skinnier version of Brian.”
“You think so?”
“Now, don’t tell me you didn’t notice that.”
“No,” she replied. “Not really.”
“Well, look again, woman.”
“Are those jeans new?” she asked.
“These?” He held up the pair he was packing. “I got them today.”
“They look black.”
“They are. black. All the rage. See?” He pretended to model them. “The Widow Fielding Goes to London.”
She giggled. “You are the worst.”
“Well … I figure they haven’t got them there yet. I might be able to barter with them in an emergency.”
“Sell your pants, you mean?”
“Sure.” He folded the Levi’s and placed them in the suitcase. “I remember when American kids used to pay their way across Europe that way.”
“Ages ago, Mouse.”
“Well …”
“When were you last in London?”
“Uh … late sixties.”
“Late?”
“Nineteen sixty-seven.”
“Right,” she said. “And they called it Swinging London,”
“O.K.”
“And Twiggy was around.”
He pretended to be shocked. “Twiggy is still around, and don’t you forget it!”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” he replied. “It was sixteen years ago, and I was sixteen. Half my life ago.” He turned and smiled at her. “I came out there, too.”
“You did? You never told me that.”
“Well … had my first sex, anyway.”
“Whatever,” she said.
“Does Brian get along well with Simon?” he asked.
“Wait a minute. I thought we were talking about London.”
He patted a side pocket of the suitcase. “I already have my instructions.”
“What?”
“Simon left a small tome about the operation of his apartment.”
“Have you looked at it yet?” she asked.
“Nope. Don’t want to. I want it to be a complete surprise.”
That made sense to her.
“Well?” he asked. “Do they?”
“What?”
“Get along well together.”
“Mouse … what is this?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “I’m just curious.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. They seem to like each other. They both have the hots for Theresa Cross.”
Michael made a face. “Brian told you that?”
“He doesn’t have to. I know how he is. He’s got a sleazy streak in him a mile wide.”
He grinned at some private movie. “Yeah … that figures. Any man who would make you wear leg warmers during sex …”
“Mouse …”
His languid grin remained.
“I should never have told you that. I knew you’d throw it back at me. Besides … he doesn’t make me do it. I do it of my own accord.”
He nodded solemnly. “I admire a woman who takes responsibility for her own sleaziness.”
“That’s the last juicy tidbit you get from me.”
“Juicy tidbit? You told me it was a transcendental experience. You said it made you feel like one of the girls from Fame.”
She stomped into his kitchen. “I’m pouring myself some wine.”
“Help yourself,” he hollered back. “Pour me some, too.”
She stood there for a moment in the light of his refrigerator, enjoying the afterglow of his teasing. She had loved this sentimental, funny, adorable man longer than she had
loved Brian even, and it warmed her heart to realize they were getting back to normal again. Returning with two glasses of wine, she handed one to him and asked: “Aren’t you going to open your package?”
He looked confused.
“The one from Ned,” she added, pointing to it. She couldn’t stand it when people didn’t open things immediately.
“Oh.” He set his wine down and reached for the envelope, tearing off the end. “And the winner is…” He peered down into it. then pulled out a note written on a card with a naked fireman on the front. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I’ll miss you. Your buddy, Ned.’ ”
“That’s sweet,” she said.
He nodded, with a little smile.
“That’s not all, is it?”
Another nod.
“Mouse … there’s something in there.”
“There is, huh?”
“I felt it moving around.” She took the envelope from him and shook it over the sofa. Five foil-wrapped rubbers fell out. “Oops,” she said.
Mouse just grinned at her. He didn’t look particularly upset. “It’s Ned’s way of saying … you know … be careful and have a good time.” He scooped them up in both hands. “Here … from me to you.”
“What?” She was sure she was scarlet.
“C’mon. Take ’em. I’m celibate. You guys can use them more than I can.”
“Uh … Mouse. Thanks just the same, O.K.?”
He looked at her for a moment, then dropped the rubbers back into the envelope. “Hooked on the pill, huh?”
She picked up her wine and downed it.
He sipped his slowly, peering at her over the rim. “Do I still get that ride to the airport?”
“Sure. You bet. What time?”
“Well … I guess we should leave no later than three-thirty. Just to be sure.”
“Great.” She pecked him on the cheek. “See you then.”
When she got back to her own apartment, she found Brian washing the breakfast dishes. She leaned into his back and kissed his neck. “Mouse is so excited,” she said.
“I don’t blame him,” he replied.
“Maybe we should do the same.”
He dried his hands on a towel and turned around. “Go to London?”
She smiled at him. “Get out of town, at least.”
“All right. Our savings account should get us as far as, say, Oakland.”
She touched the tip of his nose. “Exactly what I had in mind.”
“Oakland?”
“Sure. A weekend for two at the Claremont. All expenses paid.”
“How come?”
She looked as cavalier as possible. “No reason.”
“No. I meant: how come all expenses are paid?”
“Oh. I did a feature on them last month. It’s a freebie.”
“Not bad.”
“I know. Jacuzzi, sauna … baking by the pool. Nothing to pack but swimming suits and something for the dining room.”
“And leg warmers.”
“And leg warmers,” she echoed. “Sold! To the gentleman with the hard-on.”
Pumping the Lieutenant
WHEN SHE. RETURNED FROM THE AIRPORT THE next day, she found Simon sitting on the bench in the courtyard. He gave her a jaunty little wave as she passed through the lych-gate. “You look like you belong there,” she-said.
He smiled at her. “It certainly feels that way.”
“Well …” She made a graceless gesture in the general direction of Daly City. “Mouse is off in the wild blue yonder.” It sounded as lame as the gesture must have looked.
Simon pointed to the brass plaque in the garden. “Is this his lover?”
She nodded.
“His ashes?”
Another nod.
He shook his head slowly. “No wonder he wanted to get away.”
She couldn’t bear to think about Jon just now. “Simon … let me know if I can … you know … help with anything.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been a great help already.”
“Well, hey … no problem …” She was backing toward the door, she realized, like some awkward teenager.
“Do you have a moment?” he asked, leaning toward her slightly.
“Sure.”
“Wonderful. Come sit, then.”
She joined him on the bench. “You’re lucky,” she said. “You’re getting some of our sunshine. The poor Queen missed it completely.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “I’m sure this irony isn’t lost on Her Majesty.”
She laughed uneasily. What did he mean by that? That the Queen had personal knowledge of his escapade? That she was envious of irresponsibility? “Is the Queen a nice person?” she asked.
A deep chuckle. “The Queen is a lovely person.”
“Have you ever actually talked to her?”
“Oh … four or five times at the most.”
“She doesn’t seem to smile very much.”
He shrugged. “Smiling is her job. When smiling is one’s job, one is very circumspect about the way one doles it out. Otherwise, it means nothing.”
“That’s very well put,” she said.
Another half-lidded smile. “It’s our regulation answer.”
“Do you have to be … like … a lord or something to be an officer on the Britannia?” “Not at all.”
“Are you, though?”
His laughter was hearty but not malicious. “You Americans just jump right in there, don’t you?”
She was enough of a Californian to resent being called an American. “Well, I think it’s only natural to wonder if …” Her search for the right words proved futile. She was pumping him, and it showed.
Simon leaped gallantly into the silence. “The only titled member of my immediate family is my aunt, my mother’s sister, a grotty old duchess by marriage who wears waders and messes about in boats.”
“The Queen does that,” she put in.
“Not with this duchess, I assure you.”
She laughed without knowing exactly why. “And your mother and father?”
“They’re both dead,” he replied evenly.
“Oh, I’m …”
“My mother was an actress in the West End. My father was a barrister who moved from Leeds to London after he met my mother. What about yours?”
She was thrown for an instant. “Oh … well, my father runs an electrical shop, and my mother is a housewife. They live in Cleveland.” She reminded herself of a contestant on Family Feud.
“Cleveland … Indiana, is it?”
“Ohio.”
He nodded. “They must be very proud of you.”
“I guess they are,” she said. “They don’t see me on TV, of course, since I’m … you know … local. But I send them copies of TV Guide when I’m in it. That sort of thing. Your parents must’ve been young when they died.”
“Mmm. Very. I was still at Cambridge.” He anticipated her next question, looking faintly amused by her curiosity. “It was an automobile accident. On the M-One. Do you know the M-One?”
“A highway, right?”
“Right.”
“Was your mother a good actress?”
He seemed to like that question. “As a matter of fact, I’ve wondered about that lately. I thought she was marvelous at the time. She was funny, And very beautiful.”
“That makes sense,” she said.
He passed over the ambiguous compliment. “When I was fourteen, she introduced me to Diana Rigg backstage at the Haymarket. I thought that was the loveliest thing any mother could do for her son.”
“I can see how you would,” she smiled.
A long silence followed, during which she remembered the joint in her purse. “I almost forgot,” she told Simon. “You haven’t sampled the Queen Mother yet.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She giggled, holding up the joint. “Mrs. Madrigal’s primo homegrown.”
“Ah.”
She lit the joint
, took a toke, and handed it to him. “I rolled a couple for the trip to the airport. Mouse was feeling no pain when he took off.”
He didn’t respond, holding the smoke in his lungs.
She watched him, tickled by his dignity during the performance of this near-ridiculous ritual.
“Very tasty,” he said at last.
“Mmm. Isn’t it?”
“Do you still want that story?”
For a moment, she thought he was accusing her of weakening his resistance with dope. Then she realized the question was in earnest. “Do you mean …?”
“The one about me. ‘Queen’s Officer Jumps Ship in Frisco.’ ”
She smiled. “I think I’d handle it a little more tastefully than that.”
He handed the joint back to her. “Do you want to?”
She hesitated. “Simon, I meant it when I said I wouldn’t do anything if …”
“I know that. You’ve been perfectly honorable.” He retrieved the joint and took another toke off it. “I’ve given this some thought, Mary Ann. Frankly … I don’t see what harm it would do. If you’re still game, that is.”
She said nothing, wondering about his motives.
“Is it what you want?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He smiled. “Then it’s what I want.”
“Simon …”
“I reserve the right to edit content, of course. I don’t want to embarrass anyone.”
“Of course not.”
Another smile, a little warmer than the last. “Wonderful. It’s settled, then?”
“You bet.”
He returned the joint. “When shall we start?”
Brian materialized under the lych-gate, panting heavily in shorts and a tank top. Simon wasn’t facing the gate, but he detected the change in her expression and turned around. “Oh … hello there.”
“ ‘Lo,” said Brian, running in place.
“We’re trying out the new weed,” she offered cheerfully.
“I see.” He was shaking out his arms now, like a marionette in a high wind.
“Do you run regularly?” asked Simon.
“Fair amount,” Brian answered. He wasn’t wasting an ounce of energy on friendliness.
“You must show me where you do it,” said Simon. “I’ve been frightfully remiss in my own regimen.”
“Sure thing,” said Brian, loping past them into the house.