top of her head.
“And you’re in too good a mood,” Beth countered, “so it’s obviously not your period this time. For God’s sake, where were you?”
“Confession?”
“Try again. I saw you running across the square.”
“Okay, there was this really cute guy sitting beside me at Mass — the Saturday night Masses get all the single people — so after the recessional hymn, I followed him.”
“You what?” Beth had long since gotten used to Ginny’s unpredictability, but this bordered on lunacy.
“All the way down to Duds and Suds on Columbus.” Duds and Suds was a combination café cum laundromat where singles congregated. “I have to strike while my iron’s still plugged in. Ya gotta love a guy who comes for a dose of religion between loads of wash.”
“Irresistible. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You kept me waiting here for over half an hour while you chased some stranger through North Beach?”
“Not an ordinary stranger, Beth. He could have been The One.”
“Ginny,” Beth sighed, “to you, any man who owns a Gillette razor could be The One. What happened?”
“His roommate was already folding the whites by the time I got there. Why are all the cute ones gay? Oh, well. Did you eat?”
Beth nodded. “Fruit salad.”
“That all?” Ginny signalled the waiter, flashed him a wide smile, then ordered the black bean soup and the pasta of the day.
“Why the violin?” Beth asked when Ginny had finished ordering.
“Practising with Dieter tonight. You remember, the cellist I played the duet with in the West Marin Festival? Maybe later he’ll pluck my strings.”
The waiter set a basket of bread on the table. Ginny tore into a slice.
“Ginny, you’ve got to be careful,” Beth cautioned.
“Why? These pesky extra pounds are here to stay.”
“No. I mean, you can’t go following strange men, especially now. And what about this Dieter?”
“Hey, why not? Nice Catholic boy, a musician. He could be a contenda.”
Beth thrust the
Chronicle
in front of Ginny. “Virginia Rizzuto, get serious. Look.”
“You flatter me, Beth. Those women are gorgeous.”
“Those women are
dead
. I don’t relish the thought of seeing your photograph in the
Chronicle
alongside theirs, Gin.”
Ginny glanced at the photos, her gaze lingering on Natalie Gorman. “Well, I wouldn’t be in my underwear, that’s for sure. Mama would have a stroke.”
“Gin—”
“Come on, Beth. Lighten up.” The waiter returned with Ginny’s soup and set it on the table. “This city’salways been home to society’s fringe groups. The Symbionese Liberation Army, Jim Jones’s People’s Temple — now we’ve got the Spiderman.”
“You’re minimizing the danger, Gin.”
“And you’re exaggerating it because of Anne,” Ginny said, raising her voice. “Beth, we’ve had this conversation before. I’m not about to change my lifestyle because of the Spiderman. I know about bad people doing bad things. I’m sorry about Anne, and I’m sorry about Natalie Gorman, too, but face it, she was stupid to cross that park at night. Any tourist guide will advise you to stick to the main roads. But the odds of the Spiderman harming me are slim.”
“Still, Gin, you don’t have to go tipping the scale by following some stranger.”
“The Spiderman won’t get me, Beth. I’m not his type. You, on the other hand …”
“What do you mean?”
Ginny chomped the pointed end of a crusty roll. “Sometimes,” she said between chews, “you’re too polite for your own good. Guy stands on your doorstep with a set of ten-year-old encyclopedias, and you’d let him in because it’s cold outside.”
“I would not.”
“Beg your pardon? How many times has that McKenna character screwed you around with the rent?” Ginny paused, and when Beth didn’t answer, she said, “See? What did I tell you? Good manners are for family and close friends.”
“Thanks, Ginny. I feel much better.”
“Listen,
“And you’re in too good a mood,” Beth countered, “so it’s obviously not your period this time. For God’s sake, where were you?”
“Confession?”
“Try again. I saw you running across the square.”
“Okay, there was this really cute guy sitting beside me at Mass — the Saturday night Masses get all the single people — so after the recessional hymn, I followed him.”
“You what?” Beth had long since gotten used to Ginny’s unpredictability, but this bordered on lunacy.
“All the way down to Duds and Suds on Columbus.” Duds and Suds was a combination café cum laundromat where singles congregated. “I have to strike while my iron’s still plugged in. Ya gotta love a guy who comes for a dose of religion between loads of wash.”
“Irresistible. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You kept me waiting here for over half an hour while you chased some stranger through North Beach?”
“Not an ordinary stranger, Beth. He could have been The One.”
“Ginny,” Beth sighed, “to you, any man who owns a Gillette razor could be The One. What happened?”
“His roommate was already folding the whites by the time I got there. Why are all the cute ones gay? Oh, well. Did you eat?”
Beth nodded. “Fruit salad.”
“That all?” Ginny signalled the waiter, flashed him a wide smile, then ordered the black bean soup and the pasta of the day.
“Why the violin?” Beth asked when Ginny had finished ordering.
“Practising with Dieter tonight. You remember, the cellist I played the duet with in the West Marin Festival? Maybe later he’ll pluck my strings.”
The waiter set a basket of bread on the table. Ginny tore into a slice.
“Ginny, you’ve got to be careful,” Beth cautioned.
“Why? These pesky extra pounds are here to stay.”
“No. I mean, you can’t go following strange men, especially now. And what about this Dieter?”
“Hey, why not? Nice Catholic boy, a musician. He could be a contenda.”
Beth thrust the
Chronicle
in front of Ginny. “Virginia Rizzuto, get serious. Look.”
“You flatter me, Beth. Those women are gorgeous.”
“Those women are
dead
. I don’t relish the thought of seeing your photograph in the
Chronicle
alongside theirs, Gin.”
Ginny glanced at the photos, her gaze lingering on Natalie Gorman. “Well, I wouldn’t be in my underwear, that’s for sure. Mama would have a stroke.”
“Gin—”
“Come on, Beth. Lighten up.” The waiter returned with Ginny’s soup and set it on the table. “This city’salways been home to society’s fringe groups. The Symbionese Liberation Army, Jim Jones’s People’s Temple — now we’ve got the Spiderman.”
“You’re minimizing the danger, Gin.”
“And you’re exaggerating it because of Anne,” Ginny said, raising her voice. “Beth, we’ve had this conversation before. I’m not about to change my lifestyle because of the Spiderman. I know about bad people doing bad things. I’m sorry about Anne, and I’m sorry about Natalie Gorman, too, but face it, she was stupid to cross that park at night. Any tourist guide will advise you to stick to the main roads. But the odds of the Spiderman harming me are slim.”
“Still, Gin, you don’t have to go tipping the scale by following some stranger.”
“The Spiderman won’t get me, Beth. I’m not his type. You, on the other hand …”
“What do you mean?”
Ginny chomped the pointed end of a crusty roll. “Sometimes,” she said between chews, “you’re too polite for your own good. Guy stands on your doorstep with a set of ten-year-old encyclopedias, and you’d let him in because it’s cold outside.”
“I would not.”
“Beg your pardon? How many times has that McKenna character screwed you around with the rent?” Ginny paused, and when Beth didn’t answer, she said, “See? What did I tell you? Good manners are for family and close friends.”
“Thanks, Ginny. I feel much better.”
“Listen,
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