Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin Page A

You’re the one who’s free. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
    “Free?”
    “Single.”
    “Oh … yeah.”
    “Single people can call the shots.”
    The waiter appeared. “The lady would like some ice water,” said Beauchamp. He smiled at Mary Ann. “You don’t mind being called a lady, do you?” She shook her head. The waiter smirked and left.
    “You know what?” said Mary Ann.
    “What?” The eyes were locked on her now.
    “I used to pronounce your name ‘Bo-shomp’ instead of
    ‘Beechum.’”
    “Everybody does that.”
    “I felt so dumb. Mildred finally corrected me. It’s English, isn’t it?”
    He nodded. “My parents were shamelessly affected.”
    “I think it’s nice. You should have told me when I said it wrong.”
    He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
    “I even said Greenwich Street wrong when I first got here.”
    “I called Kearny ‘Keerny.’”
    “Did you?”
    “And Ghirardelli ‘Jeerardelli,’ and … blasphemy of blasphemies … I called the cable cars trolleys!”
    Mary Ann giggled. “I still do that.”
    “So big deal! Fuck ‘em, if they can’t take a joke!”
    She laughed, hoping it would cover her embarrassment.
    “We’re all babes in the woods,” said Beauchamp. “At one point or another. Use it to your advantage. Innocence is very erotic.” He picked a crouton out of his salad and popped it in his mouth. “It is to me, at least.”
    The waiter was back with her water. She thanked him and sipped at it, considering a new course for the conversation. Beauchamp beat her to it.
    “Have you ever met my wife?”
    “Uh … once. At the softball game.”
    “Oh, yeah. What did you think?”
    “She’s very nice.”
    His smile was wan. “Yes … very nice.”
    “I read about you two a lot.”
    “Yes. Don’t you?”
    She was squirming. “Beauchamp … I think Mr. Halcyon’s gonna be back in …”
    “You want a scoop you won’t find in the social columns?”
    “I don’t want to talk about your wife.”
    “I don’t blame you.”
    She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “This has been really …”
    “We haven’t slept together since the Fol de Rol.”
    She decided not to ask what the Fol de Rol was. “I think we should go, Beauchamp.”
    “DeDe and I aren’t even friends , Mary Ann. We don’t talk like you and I do. We don’t relate….”
    “Beauchamp …”
    “I’m trying to tell you something, goddammit! Will you stop being so fucking … Middle American for about ten seconds?” He dropped his head and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “I’m sorry … God … please, help me, will you?”
    She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He was crying.
    “What can I do, Beauchamp?”
    “I don’t know. Don’t leave … please. Talk to me.”
    “Beauchamp, this is the wrong place for …”
    “I know. We need time.”
    “We could meet for a drink after work.”
    “What about this weekend?”
    “I don’t think that would …”
    “I know a place in Mendocino.”

A Piece of Anna’s Past
    T HE SUN IN THE PARK WAS WARMER NOW, AND THE BIRDS were singing much more joyously.
    Or so it seemed to Edgar.
    “Madrigal. That’s lovely. Aren’t there some Madrigals in Philadelphia?”
    Anna shrugged. “This one came from Winnemucca.”
    “Oh … I don’t know Nevada too well.”
    “You must’ve been to Winnemucca at least once. Probably when you were eighteen.”
    He laughed. “Twenty. We were late bloomers in my family.”
    “Which one did you go to?”
    “My God! You’re talking about the Paleolithic period. I couldn’t remember a thing like that!”
    “It was your first time, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, then you can remember it. Everybody remembers the first time.” She blinked her eyes coaxingly, like a teacher trying to extract the multiplication tables from a shy pupil. “When was it—1935 or thereabouts?”
    “I guess … it was 1937. My junior year at Stanford.”
    “How did you get