Further Tales of the City

  “What?”

  “Over there … by the conservatory. That overdressed blonde climbing into the limo.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s Prue Giroux.”

  “Who?”

  “You know … the dizzy socialite who writes for Western Gentry magazine.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “She’s grinning like a Cheshire cat,” said Michael. “Where do you suppose she’s going?”

  The Trouble with Dad

  ANYWAY,” DEDE CONTINUED, “MARCELINE KNEW how sick he was. She was worried about it all the time.”

  “You knew her?”

  DeDe nodded. “We were friends, of sorts. She was a pretty savvy woman.”

  “Yet she didn’t …?”

  “Hang on, O.K.? I wanna get through this. A Russian doctor named … Fedorovsky, I think … I’ll have to check my diary … this doctor came to Jonestown in the fall and said that Jones had emphysema. Marceline made a special trip to San Francisco to tell Dr. Goodlett that Jones’ fever was getting worse. He told her he couldn’t be responsible for treating him, if Jones wouldn’t leave the jungle for proper treatment. He washed his hands of it, in other words.

  “At this point, apparently, Marceline decided to approach a former Temple member who lived in San Francisco. This man was one of Jones’ most devoted disciples, but he was also a serious mental case … so serious, in fact, that Jones had refused him permission to participate in Jonestown.”

  “What was his name?” asked Mary Ann.

  “I don’t know. Marceline never told me. The point is … this guy bore a really freaky resemblance to Jones … the same body type and coloration, the same angularity to his face. He even capitalized on it by wearing sideburns and mirrored sunglasses.”

  “But … why?”

  DeDe shrugged. “All of the others wanted to follow Jones. This one wanted to be him.”

  “Did Marceline tell you this?”

  “Uh-huh. I also saw it with my own eyes.”

  “In Jonestown?”

  DeDe nodded. “I saw them meeting together one night. Jones and this guy. I could barely tell them apart. The plan—according to Marceline—was for the imposter to run the operation until Jones could get to Moscow for medical treatment. A week at the most, she said. He would do most of his work on the loudspeaker system, with occasional walkthroughs to keep people in line. The man was briefed on everything, including the suicide drills. Jones was so sick, of course, that no one expected him to sound like himself … or even to actively participate in the day-to-day life of the camp. He just had to be there, a figurehead to prevent an insurrection.”

  “Then … this happened? Jones left?”

  “I don’t know. Two days after the imposter arrived in camp, Captain Duke told me about the cyanide. I didn’t stick around to find out. For once in my life, I missed out on the action and was damn glad of it.”

  “So you left … when?”

  “Two days before the congressman and the others were murdered at the airstrip.”

  “Meaning that this man … the imposter … may have been the one who ordered the mass suicide?”

  “Yes.”

  “And may have been the one who …”

  When Mary Ann faltered, DeDe finished the sentence. “The one who died.”

  “My God!”

  DeDe simply blinked at her.

  “That’s … DeDe, that’s grotesque.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  “But … surely … the government must’ve checked those bodies at the time. Somebody must’ve … I don’t know … what do they do? A blood test or something?”

  DeDe smiled patiently. “There were nine hundred bodies, remember?”

  “I know, but …”

  “One of those bodies was lying in front of the throne with its head on a pillow. Bloated as it was, it looked like Jones … and it was probably carrying his identification. Do you think they stopped to check his fingerprints?”

  “Wasn’t there an autopsy?”

  “There was,” said DeDe, “and I’ve been trying like hell to find the report. That’s why I needed time, don’t you see? If someone could prove to me conclusively that he was really dead …”

  “What about those Temple members?”

  DeDe grimaced. “They were useless. They wanted no part of it. They treated me like I was crazy or something.”

  Mary Ann said nothing.

  “Mary Ann … please … don’t write me off just yet.” DeDe looked at her imploringly as her eyes filled with tears. “I haven’t even gotten to the crazy part.”

  Mary Ann took her hand. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” sobbed DeDe. “I’m so damn tired of running …”

  “DeDe, please don’t. It can’t be as bad as you …”

  “I’ve seen him, Mary Ann!”

  “What?”

  “Yesterday. At Steinhart Aquarium. Mother was driving me crazy, so I drove to the city … just to walk around. I went to a concert in the park … and later I went to the aquarium … and I saw him there in the crowd.”

  “You saw … Jones?” Mary Ann was thunderstruck.

  DeDe nodded, her face contorted with fear.

  “What was he doing?”

  “Looking …” She was almost incoherent now. Feeling her own lip begin to quiver, Mary Ann squeezed DeDe’s hand even tighter.

  “Looking?” she asked guardedly.

  DeDe nodded, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “At the fish. The same as me.”

  “It’s awfully dark in there. Are you sure you …?”

  “Yes! He was thinner looking, and much healthier, but it was him. I knew the minute I looked into his eyes.”

  “He saw you?”

  “He smiled at me. It was awful.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran all the way back to the car and drove home. I haven’t left the house since. I know how this sounds, believe me. You have every right to …”

  “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “I believe it’s real to you. That’s enough for me.”

  DeDe’s sobs stopped. She glared at Mary Ann for a moment, then jerked her hand away angrily. “You think I’m hysterical, don’t you?”

  “DeDe, I think you’ve been incredibly brave …”

  “Brave? Look at me, goddamnit! I am scared shitless! Do you think I don’t know what the police would say about this … what the whole goddamn world would say about that poor little rich girl who went off the deep end in Jonestown? Look how you’re acting, and you’re supposed to be my friend!”

  “I am your friend,” Mary Ann said feebly.

  “Then what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do about my goddamn children?”

  Gangie

  LITTLE EDGAR AND HIS SISTER ANNA RAN ACROSS THE brown lawn at Halcyon Hill and accosted their grandmother on the terrace, each tugging joyfully at a leg.

  “Gangie, Gangie … look!”

  Frannie set her teacup down on the glass-topped table and smiled at the four-year-olds. “What is it, darlings? What do you want to show Gangie?”

  Little Anna thrust out her tiny fist and uncurled it. A small gray toad, pulsing like a heart, was offered for examination. Frannie’s nose wrinkled, but she did her best to sound appreciative. “Well, now … just look at him, would you? Do you know what that is, Edgar?”

  Edgar shook his head.

  “It’s a fwog,” said Anna, somewhat smugly.

  Edgar cast a disdainful look at his twin. “I found it,” he declared defiantly, as if to compensate for his vocabulary failure.

  “Well, it’s just wonderful,” said Frannie sweetly, “but I think you should take it back where you found it.”

  “Why?” they asked together.

  “Well … because it’s one of God’s little creatures, and it looks like a baby to me. It probably misses its mommy. You wouldn’t like it i
f someone took you away from your mommy, now would you?”

  Four almond eyes grew larger; two little heads shook simultaneously.

  “Well, then … you run along and put him right back where you found him, and Gangie will have a big surprise for you when you get back.”

  Frannie watched as they scurried back to the edge of the rose garden, delighting in the classic simplicity of the scenario. She was sure she had spoken the same words—in the same place, moreover—when DeDe had been that age.

  “Could I have a word with you, Mother?”

  The matriarch turned around to confront the grown-up DeDe, looking lean and beautiful and unusually … purposeful. “Hello, darling. Will Mary Ann join us for tea?”

  “She just left,” said DeDe.

  Frannie pecked her daughter on the cheek, then glanced lovingly in the direction of the twins. “They’re such a joy. I can’t tell you.”

  DeDe’s smile was weary. “They seem to have taken to you, all right. Mother … could we talk for a moment?”

  “Of course, darling. Is something the matter?”

  DeDe shook her head. “I think you’ll like it. I hope you’ll like it.”

  Emma kept the children amused with ice cream in the kitchen, while DeDe sat with her mother on the sunporch and explained what was on her mind.

  “Mary Ann is going to release the story,” she said. “Not yet, though … maybe a week or so from now. We haven’t quite worked that part out yet. The point is … I think you and the twins should be out of town when it happens.”

  “What?”

  “Think about it, Mother. The publicity will be excruciating no matter what we do. I just don’t want you or the children subjected to that kind of pressure.”

  “That’s very sweet, darling, but sooner or later that’s bound to happen, isn’t it?”

  DeDe nodded. “To some extent … but things will have cooled down somewhat, and I think you’ll be better equipped to handle it.” DeDe handed her mother a page from the travel section of the Chronicle. “I think this looks marvelous myself. They say it’s the most spacious ship afloat, and it sails for …”

  “DeDe, what on earth …?”

  “Hear me out, Mother. It sails for Alaska next week for a two-week cruise. You see the glaciers and lovely old Russian buildings in Sitka …”

  “DeDe, I’m touched by your thoughtfulness, but … well, I like it here, darling. And I really don’t think the publicity will be too much for me to …”

  “Mother, I want the children out of town!”

  Frannie was taken aback by the ferocity of DeDe’s declaration. “Darling, I’ll do anything you want. I just don’t understand why it’s so … well, so important to you.”

  DeDe composed herself. “Just help me on this, Mother. Please. It’s a marvelous trip. The twins will adore it, and you’ll get to know them so much better. It’s perfect, really.” She looked at Frannie almost plaintively. “Don’t you think?”

  The matriarch hesitated, then gave her daughter a hug. “I think it sounds lovely,” she said.

  A Starr Is Born

  THE CLOTHES FROM WILKES BASHFORD ARRIVED AT Prue’s house about half-an-hour before Father Paddy did.

  “What do you think?” the cleric asked breathlessly. “Daniel Detorie helped me pick them out. I know I went overboard on the Polo shirts, but the colors were so yummy I couldn’t resist.”

  “They’re fine,” Prue replied, almost blandly. She was in shock, she realized, for now she knew it was going to happen. It was really going to happen. She conjured up a smile for the priest. “I can’t believe how sweet you’re being.”

  “Pish,” said Father Paddy. “The pleasure was all mine, darling. I’ve never been turned loose in Wilkes before.” He lifted a blue blazer from its box. “This is Brioni,” he said. “I debated getting the Polo blazer, which was four hundred, but not nearly so shaped as the Brioni. And since we’re going for effect here, eight hundred seemed reasonable enough. Has he gotten a haircut yet?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Prue.

  Father Paddy rolled his eyes. “He can’t get on the ship looking like the Wild Man of Borneo, darling!”

  “I know,” said Prue, “but if we slick his hair back …”

  “Forget that. I’ll send over a hairdresser with the manicurist on Sunday.” He sighed exuberantly. “God, this is fun, isn’t it?”

  “I’m still so nervous,” said Prue.

  “Well, don’t be. It’s a piece of cake.” The priest removed a packet from his breast pocket. “Now, here are the tickets, my child. You’ll board between three o’clock and four-thirty on Sunday. Luke’s stateroom is two doors down from yours on the same deck. You can board half-an-hour apart, if you like, so nobody’ll be the wiser. Now … is he spending the night here on Saturday, I hope?”

  Prue nodded. “I’ve given my secretary the weekend off.”

  “Good. Smart girl.”

  Prue perused the tickets, her brow wrinkling. “Wait a minute … this ticket says Sean P. Starr.”

  “Right,” grinned Father Paddy. “Yours truly.”

  “But … Luke can’t impersonate you, Father.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, it’s just too risky. What if he needs to show an ID or something?”

  The priest shrugged. “He’ll show mine. That’s included in the tour package, my child.”

  “That’s very sweet, but … well, Luke just wouldn’t do that, I know it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Pretend to be a priest.”

  Father Paddy held out the ID card for her examination. “Show me where it says priest. He’ll just be Sean Starr, bon vivant and world traveler, a charming middle-aged bachelor who just happens to meet a certain charming middle-aged society columnist on a cruise to Alaska. What could be more natural? Or more romantic, for that matter? Your readers will eat it up with a spoon!”

  Prue laughed for the first time all day. “You’re absolutely insidious, Father.”

  The cleric accepted the compliment with a demure little bow. “The rest is up to you, my child. The church can only go so far in secular matters. If I were you, though, I’d lean very heavily on his investment broker background. Didn’t you say he used to do that?”

  Prue nodded. “A long time ago. Before he was a preacher.”

  “Marvelous. Then it’s the truth. That’s always handy.” He leaned over and pecked Prue impetuously on the cheek. “Oh, Prue … you’ve got such an adventure ahead of you, such an adventure.”

  The columnist heard herself giggle. “I do, don’t I?”

  “And you’re giving that poor man a new start in life. That’s something to be proud of … and, incidentally, something to write home about. I want vivid details, darling. That’s my fee for this service. By the way, do you love him?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Then, he’ll see that for two solid weeks, darling. He’ll see it, and he’ll never go back to what he was before. Some people are made for each other, my child, and when that happens, almost anything is possible. Now … what sort of hairdresser would you like?”

  In Hillsborough, it was DeDe who gave the last-minute briefing.

  “Just relax, Mother, that’s the main thing. Relax and enjoy your grandchildren … but for God’s sake don’t tell people that’s who they are or you’ll defeat our whole purpose.”

  “Then, what exactly am I supposed to tell them?”

  “Simple. They’re your foster grandchildren. Vietnamese orphans in your charge for the summer.”

  The matriarch was indignant. “No one will believe that!”

  “Why not? It makes more sense than the truth, doesn’t it?”

  Silence.

  “I know it’ll be tempting to brag, Mother. But you mustn’t. Not to anyone. There’ll be time enough to celebrate with your friends after we break the story.”

  “What if I see someone I know?”

  “You won’t, probably. Cruise ships have bee
n middle class for years. But if you do, the story’s still the same. Say ‘foster’ every time You say ‘grandchild’ and you’ve got it licked. O.K.?”

  Frannie nodded begrudgingly. “It seems awfully silly, somehow.”

  “Mother.” DeDe’s voice was all business now. “It may seem silly to you, but it’s of vital importance. Do you understand me? The most well-meaning person could leak the story to the press before we know what hit us. Remember what Daddy used to say: ‘Loose lips sink ships.’ ”

  Frannie wrinkled her nose at her daughter. “I can do without the leaking and the sinking, thank you.”

  DeDe laughed nervously. “Bad choice. Sorry. Oh Mother, I hope you have the time of your life!”

  “I will,” smiled Frannie. “We will.”

  Now, Voyagers

  THE GANGPLANK TO THE SAGAFJORD WAS ASWARM WITH passengers, but Prue could see only one. “Look at him,” she purred. “Have you ever beheld anything more beautiful?”

  Father Paddy crossed himself, an altogether suitable reply considering the object of their scrutiny. For the creature in the Brioni blazer was beautiful, a sleek, chiseled racehorse of a man who might easily be mistaken for a diplomat or an international financier.

  “I want to run up there and hug him,” said Prue.

  “Easy,” muttered the cleric. “Clothes might make the man, but you can’t do it until the ship’s under way.”

  Prue giggled nervously. “You’re terrible, Father.”

  “Does Luke have his ticket?”

  Prue nodded. “I gave him the Olaf Trygvasson Suite. I wanted the Henrik Ibsen for myself. It seemed more literary.”

  “Entirely appropriate,” said Father Paddy. “Do you want me to come on board, by the way?”

  “That’s sweet. I’ll be able to manage, I think.”

  The priest arched an eyebrow. “I should certainly hope so.”

  “Stop it, Father.”

  Father Paddy chuckled and hugged his friend. “Have a wonderful time, darling. I hope you meet someone marvelous on board.”

  “Something tells me I will,” smiled Prue.

  “But don’t meet him until the proper occasion arises.”