“Goddamn!” thundered Arnold. “What the hell was that about?”
“Seasick,” said Michael quietly, still watching his friends.
Arnold grunted. “He sure doesn’t seem like that kind of a fellow.”
“No,” said Michael under his breath. “Great legs, though.”
“Huh?”
“Uh … it’s great to have sea legs.”
“Right on!” concurred Melba.
Eccentric Old Bachelors
SOMEWHERE IN THE NIGHTTIME SKY ABOVE THE MONTEREY peninsula, Michael loosened his seat belt and turned to check on his traveling companions.
Burke was asleep, sprawled obliviously against the window like a Raggedy Andy doll. Mary Ann was still awake, trying her damnedest to get engrossed in PSA’s in-flight magazine. When she saw Michael watching her, she managed a tired smile.
“I’m reading about Swinging Singles in San Francisco.”
“Arrgh.”
“It’s so depressing. Do you think I’m a Swinging Single?”
Michael shook his head. “Not a bit.”
“Thank God!” She leaned closer, whispering. “I don’t think you’re a faggot, either.”
“Much obliged.”
“I’ve come a long way on that, Michael.”
“I know. I’ve noticed.”
“No. You don’t know how bad I was about it.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He paused, massaging his brow with his fingertips. “I just hope my parents can hack it.”
“You’ve told them.”
“No, but I think I’m going to.”
“Mouse … do you think they’re ready?”
“No. They’ll never be ready. They’re past changing now. They just get more the same.”
“Then why?”
“I love them, Mary Ann. They don’t even know who I am.”
“Yes they do. They know that you’re kind and gentle and … funny. They know that you love them. Why is it necessary for you to …?”
“They know a twelve-year-old.”
“Mouse … lots of men never marry. Your parents are three thousand miles away. Why shouldn’t they just keep assuming that you’re …” She sought for a word, making a little circle with her hand.
“An Eccentric Old Bachelor,” smiled Michael. “That’s what they used to call them in Orlando. My Uncle Roger was an Eccentric Old Bachelor. He taught English and raised day lilies, and we never saw much of him, except at weddings and funerals. My cousins and I liked him because he could make puppets out of knotted handkerchiefs. Most of the time, though, he kept to himself, because he knew what the rules were: Shut up about it, if you want us to love you. Don’t make us think about the disgusting thing you are.
“He did what they said, too. I don’t know … maybe he’d never heard about the queers in New Orleans and San Francisco. Maybe he didn’t even know what queer was. Maybe he thought he was the only one … or maybe he just loved living in Orlando. At any rate, he stayed, and when he died—I was a junior in high school—they gave him a decent eunuch’s funeral. Mary Ann … I had never seen him touch another human being. Not one.”
Michael hesitated, then shook his head. “I hope to God he got laid.”
Mary Ann reached over and put her hand on his arm. “Things have changed, Mouse. The world has grown up a lot.”
“Has it?” He handed her the third section of the Chronicle and pointed to Charles McCabe’s column. “This enlightened liberal says there’s gonna be a big backlash against homosexuals, because the decent folks out there are sick and tired of the ‘abnormal.’ ”
“Maybe he—”
“I’ve got news for him. Guess who else is sick of it? Guess who else has tried like hell not to be abnormal, by joking and apologizing and camping our way through a hell of a lot of crap?
“Abnormal? Anita Bryant would be a nonentity today if she hadn’t put on a bathing suit and strutted her stuff in that cattle call in Atlantic City. If you know how that differs from a jockey shorts dance contest, I wish the hell you’d tell me.”
His voice had grown strident. Mary Ann glanced nervously at the other passengers, then said in a placating tone: “Mouse, it’s not me you have to convince.”
He smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry. I sound like Carry Nation, don’t I?”
They slept for the rest of the flight. Michael woke during the descent into San Francisco, feeling the comforting hand of the city on his shoulder again.
“Well,” quipped Mary Ann as the trio deplaned, “it’s all over but the Hare Krishna in the airport.”
Michael winked at Burke. “No sweat. If they try to sell us a rose, we’ve got the perfect secret weapon.”
The pilot emerged from the cockpit. As Michael disembarked, the ancient, unwritten but unmistakable eye signal passed between the two men.
“Welcome home,” said the pilot.
“Really!” said Michael.
Mary Ann ribbed him in the terminal. “I saw that, you know.”
“You’re right about one thing,” grinned Michael. “They don’t make Eccentric Old Bachelors like they used to.”
Reunion on Barbary Lane
TONIGHT, BECAUSE IT WAS A SPECIAL OCCASION, MRS. Madrigal had piled her hair into a Gibson Girl do and adorned it with a large silk iris.
Thank God it wasn’t a rose, thought Mary Ann instantly, watching the landlady turn almost coquettish in the company of her newest tenant.
“Well, Burke, I asked Mary Ann to pick up something nice for me in Mexico, but I didn’t expect it to be this nice.” She appraised the young man long enough to see his embarrassment, then shifted her focus to Michael. “What about you, child? Didn’t you bring me anything?”
Mary Ann giggled. “He’s arriving on Friday.” Michael shot her a reproving glance, so she covered her mouth in mock penitence.
“What’s that all about?” asked Mrs. Madrigal.
“Mouse doesn’t like to talk about it.”
The landlady’s eyes widened. “Ah hah!”
“C’mon,” said Michael. “Lay off.”
Mrs. Madrigal passed a joint to him. “I understand, dear. You’re … superstitious about him.” She touched his arm suddenly. “It is a him, isn’t it?”
Michael took a toke off the joint and nodded.
“Thank heavens,” sighed Mrs. Madrigal. “There are so few things you can count on these days.”
Michael laughed. “Speaking of which … where’s Mona? I haven’t seen her since we got back.”
“She’s down at the Searchlight, picking up some munchies for us.”
“No, I mean … the apartment’s just like I left it. It doesn’t look like she’s even been home.”
The landlady patted her hair nervously. “No. She’s been away. And lately she’s been staying here, in my spare room.”
Michael hesitated, certain now that something was amiss. “Where … where did she go?”
“Nevada.”
“Tahoe?”
Mrs. Madrigal shook her head. “Winnemucca.”
“Winnemucca?” Michael frowned. “Why in the world did she pick that tacky place?”
The landlady shrugged. “To get it together. In her words.”
“Did she?”
“She says she did.”
Michael smiled. “She’s lying.”
“Maybe,” said Mrs. Madrigal, clearly relishing the enigma she had begun to spin, “but she brought me a present.”
Baffled silence.
“She’s down at the store with Mona now, so I’ve got some quick explaining to do, if we’re going to be one big happy family again.” Mrs. Madrigal excused herself and hurried to the phone. Mary Ann heard her ask Brian to come down.
He appeared minutes later, barefoot, in Levi’s and a shrimp-colored T-shirt. He nodded greetings to Mary Ann and Michael (“Hey, long time no see!”) and shook hands with Burke. Mrs. Madrigal took his arm in a gesture that struck Mary Ann as surprisingly intimate.
/>
“Brian’s heard all this before,” said the landlady calmly, “but I want the whole family here while I clear the air.”
It took her fifteen minutes to do just that.
She told her story without stopping. When she had come to the end, she fussed distractedly with her hair again and glanced apologetically at Burke. “So, dear boy … it’s not too late to back out.”
Dazed and touched, Mary Ann looked first at Mrs. Madrigal, then at a red-faced Burke, then back at Mrs. Madrigal again. Brian stood by awkwardly, hands in pockets. Michael’s eye caught Mary Ann’s briefly, just as Mary Ann stepped forward.
“Mrs. Madrigal, please don’t …” She took the landlady’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so … proud of you. I think Mona’s the luckiest person in town.” She flung her arms around the landlady’s neck and held on tight.
When she let go, Michael was standing there, smiling at Mrs. Madrigal. “I don’t believe you,” he said admiringly.
She smiled back at him, cupping her hand against his cheek. “You’ll manage,” she said softly.
When Mona arrived with Mother Mucca, there were more introductions and hugs, more hasty explanations and heartfelt apologies and clumsy declarations of love.
Burke found a natural ally in Brian, Mary Ann noted.
Brian, however, excused himself from the gathering just before midnight.
“Late date?” Burke asked discreetly.
Brian nodded.
Mary Ann couldn’t resist kidding him. “Look what can happen in two weeks,” she said coyly. “Are you seeing somebody now, Brian?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “You could say that.”
The Road to Ruin
PINUS-BOUND AT LAST, FRANNIE HALCYON MADE HER-SELF comfortable in Helena Parrish’s Fawn Mist Mercedes and smiled out at the golden Sonoma countryside.
Helena took a long drag on her Du Maurier. “What did you tell your daughter?” she asked.
“The truth. At least, part of it. I said I was going to the house in Napa. She wasn’t really listening. She’s been so distracted lately.”
“Didn’t I read somewhere that she’s pregnant?”
“Uh huh. Eight months. Eight and a half, actually.”
“You aren’t nervous about leaving her?”
Frannie looked at Helena. “How long will this take?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
Helena smiled. “On how much you like it.”
Frannie giggled. “A few days can’t hurt. DeDe’s been—you know—irritable lately, and I think she’d probably like a little time to herself. Besides, she’s got a divine young gynecologist, and I’m a little tired of playing doting grandmother before the fact.”
Helena chuckled. “You won’t have to worry about that at Pinus. Most of us are grandmothers, but you’re shot at dawn if you talk about it.”
They rode in silence for several minutes. It was almost as if Helena knew instinctively not to disrupt the fantasies that had begun to take shape in Frannie’s mind.
“Well,” said Helena finally, “it’s almost time to go like sixty!”
“I’m not sure if this road is safe enough to—”
Helena smiled. “I meant your birthday.”
“Oh, yes.” Frannie looked at her watch. “In only one day, four hours, twenty-three minutes and thirteen wonderful little seconds.”
“You’re a new woman already!”
“I can hardly believe it. Do you realize that a month ago I was seriously considering face-lifts and rejuvenation shots!”
“Oh, Frrrannie … no! You must have known that Pinus was just around the corner.”
Frannie thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I actually believed in it. I’d heard stories, of course, but that was all hearsay. Oh, Helena … I feel so privileged!”
The Pinus hostess beamed proudly. “We are all privileged, Frannie.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, she pointed to the glove compartment. “Open it, darling.”
“Why?”
“Go on, open it.”
Frannie did as she was told. “And …”
“The little silver pillbox.”
“This?”
“Mmmm. Now … there’s a thermos on the back seat. Pour yourself a nice cup of apple juice and take a vitamin Q tablet.”
“Vitamin Q?”
“Don’t ask questions. It’s good for what ails you. You’re in our hands now, Frannie.” Her smile was warm but authoritative.
The initiate removed a tablet and studied its inscription. It said: Rorer 714.
“Down the hatch,” said Helena.
And down it went.
Driving through Glen Ellen, Helena motioned toward a sign marking the mental hospital. “If Pinus gets too much for you,” she smiled, “we can shift you with no problem at all.”
Frannie giggled, feeling sort of comfy-groggy. “This is such a sleepy little town. I used to think this was all there was to it.”
“You’d never guess, would you?”
“Is it near here?”
“The turnoff’s just up the road. You’ll see.” Helena sucked on her cigaret, then winked. “We haven’t blindfolded initiates since the early forties.”
Frannie grew reflective. “There’s something about all this that reminds me of Edgar.”
“We’re all widows, Frannie. The past is behind us.”
“I didn’t mean it … sentimentally. Edgar was so damned mysterious about his two weeks at the Bohemian Grove. All that hocus-pocus about owls and goblins and muses in the forest. He used it, Helena. He used it to keep me at arm’s length.”
Helena sniffed. “Compared to Pinus, darling, the Bohemian Grove is a Boy Scout jamboree.”
After leaving the highway, they bumped down a dirt road for several miles, passing the grove of towering pines that presumably gave the resort its name. When the Mercedes rounded the last bend, Frannie drew in her breath and clutched the dashboard.
“My God, Helena!”
“Yes,” beamed the hostess. “Isn’t it grand?”
Before them, marking the entrance, loomed a sixty-foot fieldstone tower, rounded at the top. As they passed it, Frannie peered out the window at the discreet brass plaque affixed at eye level.
PINUS
Established August 23, 1912
Too Much of a Good Thing is Wonderful
Mona’s Law
JON HAD NO TROUBLE SPOTTING MICHAEL IN THE CROWD AT the American Airlines terminal. He was wearing Levi’s, a clean white T-shirt, and a black and silver satin Jefferson Starship baseball jacket.
And roller skates.
The doctor brushed past him, striding toward the baggage claim area in his blue Brioni blazer. “I don’t know you,” he muttered.
“Aw, c’mon, big boy … you remember. We bumped into each other at the roller rink in South City. Nineteen forty-eight I believe it was.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“How was your flight?”
“Michael, that gray-haired man over there is the most distinguished gynecologist on the West Coast.”
The skater slowed down and shifted his gaze. “He has dandruff,” he said.
“He knows me,” said Jon.
“I would never hire a gynecologist with dandruff.”
“Would you at least slow down?”
“Why? You wanna smooch?”
“I’ll punch you out. So help me.”
“I love it when you’re butch.”
“Somebody’s gotta do it.”
“You’re a stuffy bastard, you know that?”
Jon glared daggers at Michael and grabbed the back of his belt, bringing him to a standstill. Then, in full view of the most distinguished gynecologist on the West Coast, he spun him around and kissed him on the mouth.
“Satisfied?”
“Satiated,” beamed Michael.
They picked up Jon’s car in the airport garage and drove to his apartment in Pacific Heights. On the way,
Michael rattled on about Barbary Lane and Mrs. Madrigal’s recent revelation to her “family.”
Jon shook his head incredulously. “That is … a mind-fucker.”
“Don’t you love it?”
“You mean Mona didn’t know?”
Michael shook his head. “She knew that Mrs. Madrigal was a transsexual—she was the only one who knew that—but she didn’t know that Mrs. Madrigal was her father.”
“What about Mona’s mother?”
“What about her?”
“Does she know?”
Michael shrugged. “She called Mona just before Mona left for Winnemucca. She was acting pretty freaky, Mona said—about Mrs. Madrigal, that is—but Mona isn’t sure how much she knows.”
Jon whistled. “Bizarre!”
“And I haven’t even gotten to Mary Ann yet. She’s turned into Nancy Drew under our very noses.”
“Jesus. How’s Burke taking all this?”
“Not badly, everything considered. He and Mary Ann are too obsessed with that damn key to notice much of anything else.”
“Any leads?”
“Zilch. I think it’s a locker key myself.”
“Like at a bus station or something?”
“Or a bathhouse.”
Jon scolded him. “The whole world isn’t gay, Michael.”
“I know, I know.”
“Well, is that it?”
“What d’ya mean?”
“That’s all the news? No earthquakes to report? No Mongolian hordes barricading the bridge?”
Michael smiled mysteriously. “You’re close.”
“What?”
“I got a job today.”
“Great! Where?”
“Halcyon Communications. Mary Ann got me the interview. The mailboy Xeroxed his cock one too many times, and Beauchamp Whatshisname canned him. I take his place starting Monday.”
“That’s wonderful, Michael.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Sure it is. You can advance from there, Michael.”
“I know. I know it’s a good job. That’s the problem. It got me to thinking about Mona’s Law.”
“Huh?”
“Mona’s Law. That’s what she calls it. She says you can have a hot job, a hot lover and a hot apartment, but you can’t have all three at the same time.”