ANNA WAS WAITING FOR HIM AT THE SEAL ROCK INN.
“Did the desk clerk give you a funny look?” she asked.
“No, goddammit. I’ve never been so insulted.”
She grinned at him. “My ego’s a little bruised too. I thought maybe you’d had second thoughts and run off with a nude encounter girl from Big Al’s.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Beauchamp and I had a couple of drinks at the Bohemian Club. It took longer than I planned.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing important. Business … God, you look good!”
“A trick of the light.” She took his arm and led him to the window. “There’s the best example I know anywhere.”
Beyond the dark trees, Seal Rock gleamed eerily against the ocean, white as an iceberg under the moon.
“Magic,” she said, squeezing his arm.
Edgar nodded.
“That’s what I mean,” she winked. “In the right light, even seal shit looks good.”
“Anna?”
“Mmm?”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“I feel …”
“I know.”
“Let me finish.”
“I thought you had.”
“Will you let me be serious?”
“Not for a second.”
“I love you, Anna.”
“Then we’re even, O.K.?”
“O.K.”
She leaned on her elbow and studied his face. “I’ll bet you don’t even know where your name came from?”
“Something to do with birds, right?”
“You know the legend?”
“I heard it once, but I’ve forgotten it. Tell it to me, why don’t you?”
“All right. Once upon a time there was a just and peaceful ruler named Ceyx, who reigned over the kingdom of Thes-saly. Ceyx was married to Halcyone, daughter of Aeolus, keeper of the winds….”
“Where in God’s name did you learn all this?”
“Margaret used to read to me from Bulfinch’s Mythology.”
“Margaret?”
“At the Blue Moon Lodge. The lady who got first crack at you. Stop interrupting now.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway, Ceyx went off on a sea voyage to consult an oracle because his brother had died and he was convinced that the gods had it in for him. Halcyone, on the other hand, had a terrible premonition that Ceyx would die during the voyage and begged him not to go.”
“But he went anyway, of course.”
“Of course. He was a busy executive, and she was an hysterical female. Naturally, there was a godawful storm and Ceyx was killed. Halcyone found his body several days later, floating offshore at the very spot where he had set sail.”
“Delightful.”
Anna pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Here comes the sweet part. Suddenly, Halcyone was transformed into a beautiful bird. She flew to her lover’s body and lighted on his chest, and instantly he became a bird, and Aeolus decreed that for one week each winter the seas would be calm, so that the halcyon birds could build their nest on a raft of twigs and hatch their young and live happily ever after.”
“That’s nice,” said Edgar, looking up at her. “My father had more imagination than I gave him credit for.”
“You just lost me.”
“He made up the name. The real one was Halstern.”
“Why on earth?”
Edgar smiled and kissed her. “He wanted to be a Bohemian, I guess.”
DeDe Triumphs
SUBMERGED IN FOUR FEET OF WARM WATER, DEDE HALcyon Day gripped a volleyball uneasily between her knees.
“Stay there,” she muttered, gritting her teeth. Twice in ten minutes she had torpedoed the movie star exercising next to her.
The movie star smiled gamely, indicating no hard feelings. “It’s a bitch, isn’t it? I feel like I’ve got the Hindenburg between my legs.”
Somehow still clutching the volleyball, DeDe went through her gyrations again, swinging her arms frenetically above her head. Every muscle in her body was screaming in pain.
“Stretch it!” shouted the instructress at the edge of the pool. “Strrrreeetch that gorgeous body.”
“Gorgeous?” groaned the movie star. “My ass is so waterlogged it looks like a Sunsweet prune.”
DeDe grinned at her companion, delighting in the earthiness of a woman who had always seemed larger than life on the screen. Up close, the tracheotomy scar at the base of her neck testified to her mortality.
But her eyes were violet.
This was her second week at The Golden Door. For six rigorous days she had driven her body to its limits, rising at six forty-five to flop about the countryside in a pale-pink sweatsuit, her face stripped of makeup, her hair drab and icky in a thick coat of Vaseline. It was murder, but she was getting there.
Wasn’t she?
Well, at least she felt better. Breakfast in bed was enhanced by the fact that she actually looked forward to her nine o’clock Leonardo da Vinci exercises. Then there was the Jump for Joy session and the morning facial and yoga and a Kneipp Herbal Wrap and … goddammit, something must have been happening!
At twilight, she would soak in the fan-shaped whirlpool bath, giggling happily with the movie star and half a dozen other members of the elite sisterhood. She felt like a girl again, placid and simple and whole. Her pride had returned, and somehow, miraculously, so had her self-control. Not once, but twice, she had talked the movie star out of leading a raid on the orange grove.
She was over the hump now.
The old DeDe—the pre-Beauchamp DeDe—was running her life again, and it felt damn good!
“God, I can’t believe it!”
“If it’s good,” the movie star scowled, “I don’t wanna hear it.”
DeDe stepped off the scales, then on again, fiddling with the weights. “Look at that, would you? Would you just look at that? Eighteen pounds! I’ve lost eighteen pounds in two weeks!”
“That’s abnormal. You should see a doctor.”
“It’s a miracle!”
“What the hell do you expect for three grand?” The movie star gave up the tough façade and burst into a radiant smile,enveloping DeDe in her still flabby arms. “Oh, I hope it makes you happy, DeDe!”
For a moment, DeDe thought she would cry. Here was this idol—this goddess—and she was envious of DeDe! Nobody at home would ever believe it!
They would simply have to believe their eyes.
She felt like a different woman on the flight from San Diego to San Francisco.
Her skin was tanned and glowing, her eyes danced with self-esteem. Her peach-colored T-shirt clung to her waist—her waist!—as if she had nothing to hide.
In the seat next to her, an aggressive sailor made inane conversation about “Frisco,” boring her with endless details about his tour of duty on Treasure Island.
It didn’t matter. She was enjoying the warm friction of his leg against hers. She felt deliciously single, free from Beau-champ’s petty intrigues and the dreary quagmire of her marriage.
Well, why shouldn’t she? Beauchamp hadn’t missed her. She was sure of that. And she sure as hell hadn’t missed him. Period.
Period?
Dear God. She had missed her period.
Boris Steps In
ON A WARM AUTUMN SATURDAY AT BARBARY LANE, Mary Ann stretched lazily in bed, savoring the musk from the eucalyptus tree outside her window.
A fat, tiger-striped cat lumbered into view along the window ledge, scratching its back against the open sash. Bored with that exercise, it took several half-hearted swats at the stained-glass butterfly hanging from the curtain rod.
Mary Ann grinned and tossed a pillow at the cat. “Boris … don’t!”
Boris accepted the gesture as an invitation to play. He landed with a muffled plop on Mary Ann’s mock flokati and sauntered in the direction of the bed.
“Lucky ol” Boris,” said Ma
ry Ann, scratching the cat behind his ears. Boris, she couldn’t help thinking, was beautiful, independent and loved. He belonged to no one in particular (at least, no one at 28 Barbary Lane), but he moved freely through a wide circle of benefactors and friends.
Why couldn’t she do that?
She was sick and tired of being dumped on—romantically, emotionally and every other way. Wasn’t it time to take control of her life again? To deal with her problems directly and experience each moment to the fullest?
Yes! She bounded out of bed, startling Boris, and twirled around the room on her toes. God, what a day! Here in this magical city, here on this storybook lane! Where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars and cats crawl in your window and the butcher speaks French and …
Boris darted past her, intent on avoiding this lunatic altogether.
He raced through the living room, only to find the front door closed.
“You want out, Boris? Is that what you want, baby?” Mary Ann opened the door for him, instantly recognizing the folly of that decision. Boris sped down the hallway and sought the protection of elevation by heading up the stairway to the roof.
The house on the roof.
Downstairs on the second floor, Michael was serving Mona breakfast in bed: poached eggs, nine-grain toast, Italian roast coffee and French sausages from Marcel & Henri. When he set the tray on the bed, he was whistling “What I Did for Love.”
“Well,” said Mona, grinning at him, “a little nookie does you a world of good.”
“You said it, Babycakes!”
“Where’s Jon? Ask him in. We can all have breakfast together.”
“He’s at home. I stayed there last night.”
“You little dip! Did you come all the way back here to fix me breakfast?”
“I have to drop off my laundry too.”
“Drop off your laundry, my ass!”
“Sorry. Mr. Lee only does shirts and sheets.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “O.K…. So I missed you a little.”
Michael’s evening had begun at a cocktail party given by After Dark magazine at the Stanford Court. “What can I tell you, Mona? It was sheer piss-elegance!”
Next to “affairette,” “piss-elegance” was Michael’s favorite word.
“Jon got the invitation, actually. I didn’t know a soul … unless you count Tab Hunter, of course.”
“Of course.”
“He looked damn good for forty-five, and I kinda wanted to talk to him, but he was surrounded by GQ, types, and what the hell do you say to Tab Hunter, anyway? ‘Hi, I’m Michael Tolliver, and I always liked you better than Sandra Dee’?”
“It doesn’t read. You’re right.”
“Sooo … I gorged myself on pizza canapés and did my best to avoid the guy from Brebner’s who once told me I was too average-looking to make it as a model.”
“Poor Mouse!”
“Well, he was right! Christ, Mona, you should have jmj the beauties in that room! There was so much hair spray they probably had to make an Environmental Impact Report before they could hold the party!”
“Is the plan still on?” Mona asked after breakfast. “What plan?”
“The jockey shorts dance contest.”
“I’ve been practicing all week, woman. You’re coming, aren’t you? It’s tomorrow at five-thirty.”
“What the hell for?”
“I don’t know … moral support, I guess.”
“Jon’ll go with you.”
“No. I’d rather Jon didn’t know about this, Mona.”
“O.K.,” she said quietly. “I’ll go.”
Renewing Vows
BEAUCHAMP WAS WAITING FOR HER AT THE PSA TERMInal, surrounded by stewardesses in pink-and-orange mini-skirts. When DeDe caught his eye, he smiled phosphorescently and pushed his way through the crowd to her side.
He was deeply tanned, and his eyes danced with genuine surprise.
“You look great!” he beamed. “God, you’re a new person!”
It’s possible, she thought, that I am two new people. But even that prospect couldn’t dim the triumph she felt at Beau-champ’s reaction.
She had planned on being cool with him, but one look at his face melted her Catherine Deneuve icicle.
“It wasn’t easy,” she said finally.
Then he crushed her in his arms and kissed her passionately on the mouth. “I swear to God I’ve missed you!” he said, burying his face in her hair.
It was almost more than she could take. Was this what he had needed all along? Two weeks alone in the city. Enough time to put things in perspective, to discover what she had meant to him.
Or was he simply intrigued by her new body?
On the way back to Telegraph Hill he briefed her on the fortnight she had missed.
The family was fine. Mother had spent several days at the house in St. Helena, catching up on correspondence while Faust received treatment from the family vet. Daddy seemed in good spirits. He and Beauchamp had chatted amiably over drinks. Several times.
DeDe smiled at that. “He really likes you, Beauchamp.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad you got a chance to talk … man to man, I mean.”
“So am I. DeDe?”
“Uh huh?”
“Is there anything I can do to let you know I still love you?”
She turned to study his profile, as if uncertain that the words had come from him at all. His hair was swept back in the wind; his eyes were fixed firmly on the freeway. Only his mouth, boyishly vulnerable, betrayed the turmoil within.
DeDe reached over and placed her hand gently on his thigh.
Beauchamp continued. “Do you know when I missed you the most?”
“Beauchamp, you don’t need … When?”
“In the morning. Those few terrible moments between sleeping and waking when you’re not sure where you are or even why you are. I missed you then. I needed you then, DeDe.”
She squeezed his thigh. “I’m glad.”
“I want to make things better between us.”
“We’ll see.”
“I do, DeDe. I’m going to try. I promise you.”
“I know.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I want to, Beauchamp.”
“I don’t blame you. I’m an asshole.”
“Beauchamp …”
“I am. I’m an asshole. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“A day at a time, O.K.?”
“Right. A day at a time.”
At Halcyon Hill a dying sun slipped behind the trees as Frannie strolled in the garden with her only confidante.
“I don’t know what’s happened to Edgar,” she said, sipping disconsolately at her Mai Tai. “He used to care about things … about us…. You know, it’s funny, but when Eddie was in France during the war, I used to miss him terribly. He wasn’t with me, but he was, you know…. Now he’s with me, but he’s not … and goddammit, I like missing him the other way more!”
Her eyes were brimming with tears now, but she didn’t brush them away. She was lost in another time, when loneliness wasn’t barren but beautiful, when snapshots and love letters and the honeyed voice of Bing Crosby had eased her gently through the most difficult winter of her life.
But now it was summer, and Bing lived just over the next hill. Why hadn’t things worked out?
“ ‘I’m … dreammminnngg … of a … whiiite … Chrisss-smusss … juss like the ones I usssse to know …’”
Her tears kept her from finishing. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered to her companion. “I shouldn’t burden you with this, baby. You’re so patient … so good…. If it weren’t for you, baby, I’d be like Helen … yes, I would … lunching with her decorator, for God’s sake! C’mon. There’s a teensy-weensy little bit of Mai Tai left in the pitcher.”
She poured some Mai Tai into a large plastic bowl on the terrace.
Faust, her Great Dane, lapped it up with rel
ish.
The Main on the Roof
BORIS’ TAIL MARKED TIME LIKE A METRONOME AS HE sped down the hallway and up the stairs to the roof.
Mary Ann slipped into her bathrobe and set off in pursuit of the unofficial tenant, fearful that he might get trapped in the building.
The steps to the roof were uncarpeted, painted with dark-green deck enamel. At the top, next to an ivy-choked window, a bright-orange door blocked the cat’s escape. Boris was indignant.
“Here, kitty … come on, Boris … nice Boris….”
Boris was having none of it. He stood fast, answering her with a terse saber rattle of his tail.
Mary Ann climbed higher, now less than a yard away from the door. “You really are a pain, Boris! You know that, don’t you?”
The door banged open, grazing Boris’s side, sending the startled cat bounding down the steps with a howl. Mary Ann stiffened.
Before her stood a large, middle-aged man.
“Sorry,” he said uncomfortably. “I didn’t hear you out here. I hope I didn’t hurt your cat.”
She struggled to regain her composure. “No … I don’t think so….”
“He’s a nice-looking cat.”
“Oh … he’s not my cat. He sort of belongs to everybody. I think he lives down at the end of the lane. I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to intrude.”
The man looked concerned. “I scared you, didn’t I?”
“It’s O.K.”
He smiled, extending his hand. “I’m Norman Neal Williams.”
“Hi.” She returned his shake, noticing how huge his hand was. Somehow, though, his size made him seem especially vulnerable.
He was wearing baggy gray suit pants and a short-sleeved drip-dry shirt. A little tuft of dark-brown hair spilled over the top of his clip-on four-in-hand tie.
“You live just below, don’t you?”
“Yeah … oh, sorry … I’m Mary Ann Singleton.”
“Three names.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mary Ann Singleton. Three names. Like Norman Neal Williams.”
“Oh … do you go by Norman Neal?”