Authors: Armistead Maupin
Tags: #General, #Gay, #Fiction, #Social Science, #Gay Studies
“Thanks.”
“And thanks for being so nice to Wilfred.”
“Are you kidding? We’re made for each other. He says you met that Fabia woman in London.”
“Fabia Dane?”
“That’s the one.”
“How bizarre. She came by the place I’m staying and was rude as shit. She’s the one that’s buying (he house?”
“Was,” said Mona.
“Jesus … that must mean that their new country place …” He laughed, getting the picture. “I invited Simon to a party here this summer.”
“Simon?”
“The guy I swapped places with.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, tell him he’s still invited. He’s a nice guy?”
“Very. And handsome.”
“How nice for you.”
“No, he’s straight.”
“How nice for
someone,
then.”
“Are you off men completely?”
She gave him a languid nod. “And vice versa. I am a simple English country dyke and don’t you forget it.”
“It suits you.” He smiled.
“Does it?”
“It does. It really does.”
“You can be funky here. People really are very funky here, Mouse. It’s not widely known, but it’s true.”
He nodded.
“I will
never
be a lipstick lesbian. I hate that shit on my face!”
“This shit.”
“What?”
“You’ve got on makeup
now,
Mona.”
“Well, true … but it’s my fucking wedding. Gimme a break.”
Michael laughed. “Your non-fucking wedding.”
“My non-fucking wedding. Right.” She looked behind her anxiously. “I should go help Teddy say goodbye to the non-fucking guests.” She pecked him on the cheek. “Stay here. Take your time. Smoke this.” She removed a fat joint from the peach lace of her bodice. “It’s one of Teddy’s. It has hash in it.”
He took it from her. “Thanks, Babycakes.” She reminded him so much of Mrs. Madrigal it was almost eerie.
“When you’re really loaded,” she advised him, “go down and look at the moon through the window in the great hall. And check out the graffiti in the glass. It’s three hundred years old. Teenagers put it there.”
“All right,” he nodded.
“And come for coffee later in the kitchen. Teddy wants to show you his slides of San Francisco.”
He chuckled.
“And watch these goddamn steps on your way down, O.K.? I love you, Michael Mouse.”
“Same to you, fella.”
She disappeared into the roof.
He lit the joint and fixed his gaze on the procession of lights winding toward Easley-on-Hill. The night was peppered with laughter and the scuffing of feet against gravel paths. He heard a cuckoo, a real cuckoo. He couldn’t recall the last time he had heard one, if at all.
Wilfred joined him on the parapet. “Lady Mo said you were up here.”
“Lady Mo, huh?” He laughed.
“It’s me own name.”
“It’s great! Lady Mo!”
Wilfred grinned at him. “Are you fucked up, mate?”
“A little, I guess. Here.” He handed the joint to Wilfred, who took a short hit and handed it back. “I picked out me room,” said the kid. “Wanna see it?”
“Sure, kiddo. In a little bit.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m great.”
“Yeah … me too.”
“Look at where we are, Wilfred. It’s real! There really are places that look like this!” He pried a chunk of moss off the stone and tossed it over the edge.
“What about it, then, mate?”
“What about what?”
“Well,” said Wilfred, “you’re staying, aren’t you?”
The Longest Easter
S
IMON WAS LEAVING, FRAMED IN HER DOORWAY, SUITCASE
in hand.
“I managed an earlier flight,” he said, “but I can certainly hold off until you get some word.”
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “He’ll be back. It’s only been seven hours or so.” It was easily the longest Easter in memory.
“Look,” he said, setting his suitcase down, “what if I call Theresa? She doesn’t know me, and we could at least find out if he’s there.”
“No. It’s O.K. He’s run off before.”
“Oh … I see.”
“Not over anything like this, of course.”
He grinned at her ruefully. “Of course.”
She looked at him for a moment, then flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, Simon, I’ll miss you!”
He pecked her on the cheek somewhat formally. “Take care of yourself,” he said.
“I will.”
“I left Michael’s keys with Mrs. Madrigal.”
“Fine,” she said.
“His toaster wants repairing, I’m afraid. It died on me several days ago.”
“I’ll tell him,” she replied. “That’s O.K.”
They looked at each other helplessly.
“Will you write?” she asked at last.
He reached out and stroked her hair. “I’m not very good about that.”
She smiled at him. “Neither am I.”
“Give Brian my best,” he said. “When the time is right.”
“I will.”
“Well … I’d best be going. My taxi is probably …”
“Simon, please don’t hate me.”
He studied her face for a while before leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Never,” he said softly. And then he walked away.
As night fell, she tried to stay occupied, but she couldn’t shake the dread that gripped her. When the phone rang at seven-fifteen, she lunged at it like a madwoman.
“Hello,” she answered hoarsely.
“Hi. It’s DeDe.”
“Oh … hi.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No,” she lied.
“Good. Well, D’or and I thought you and Brian might like to play tonight. Mother’s got the kids, and we’re just a couple of good-time gals on the town,”
“That’s sweet,” said Mary Ann.
“But?” replied DeDe.
“Well … Brian isn’t here right now,”
DeDe heard the uncertainty in her voice. “Is … uh … something the matter?”
“Yeah. More or less.”
“Sounds like more,” said DeDe.
Mary Ann hesitated. “We had a fight.”
“Oh.”
“It was major, DeDe. I’m worried. He left here early this morning, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“He’ll be back.”
“It isn’t that,” said Mary Ann. “He was in no shape to drive. He’d been up all night doing coke, and … I don’t know. I just feel creepy about it.”
DeDe paused, then asked: “Did he give you any idea where he was going?”
“Well … sort of.”
“Where?”
“Uh … Theresa Cross’s house.”
“Jesus. How did he meet h
er?”
“Through me,” Mary Ann answered lamely.
“Big mistake,” said DeDe.
“I don’t care about that part, really. I can deal with that. I just want to be sure he’s not … you know,”
“Yeah.”
“I’d rather know where he is than not know where he is.”
“Well,” said DeDe, “she lives just half a mile away. I could check out her driveway and see if his car is there.”
Mary Ann was flooded with relief.
Of course.
“Oh, DeDe … would you mind?”
“Gimme a break. Of course not. Call you back in half an hour.”
“It’s the Le Car,” said Mary Ann, “and please don’t let her see you.”
It was more like forty-five minutes, but she answered after only one ring.
“Yeah?”
“It’s DeDe.”
“Yeah?”
“The car isn’t there, hon.”
“Oh.”
“They could’ve gone out, of course. I mean … I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. You don’t even know for sure that that’s where he went.”
“No.”
“Please don’t worry, hon.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s early yet,” said DeDe. “Maybe he’s just visiting a friend.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have any Valium?” asked DeDe. “Yeah.”
“Then take one before you go to bed.”
Mary Ann did as she was told.
Weirding Out
T
HE FUNERAL WAS BEING HELD IN A SMALL SHINGLED
chapel with orange and green stained-glass windows. Mouse stood next to her, holding her hand. She was crying more than he was, but she knew he was probably cried out by now. As the organist began to play “Turn Away,” she turned toward the window and saw that it wasn’t stained glass at all but dozens of orange and green parrots arranged geometrically on perches. One by one, they flew toward the starless sky, and darkness spilled like molten tar into the hole they had left behind….
The phone rang.
Her hand, only barely connected to her brain, felt for the receiver in the dark. She croaked something unintelligible.
“Mary Ann?”
It was Michael. “Oh … Mouse.”
“I know it’s early, Babycakes.”
“What?”
“Don’t be pissed at me. I just wanted to give you a change of … oh, God, you’re pissed.”
“No. It’s O.K. Gimme a chance to get it together.”
“You sound really out of it.”
She checked the bedside clock. “It’s five fifty-three, Mouse.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“And I took a Valium before I went to bed.”
“Uh-oh.” He began to hum the theme from
Valley of the Dolls.
“Lay off,” she said. “Where are you?”
“In England,” he replied. “Easley-on-Hill.”
“Where?”
“I’m staying at Lady Roughton’s manor house.”
“Right,” she said, impatient with his teasing.
“I’ll tell you about it later. I just wanted you to know I’ll be staying another three days.”
Her reply was a colorless “Oh.” How long was she going to be alone?
“It’s great here,” he added. “I guess I should’ve waited to tell you. I’m sorry. I’ll see you on …”
“Don’t go, Mouse.”
“Huh?”
“Stay on the phone. Talk to me. I’m weirding out.”
“How many Valiums did you say you …?”
“Brian’s gone. We had a fight yesterday, and he walked out, and … I think something’s happened to him.”
“It can’t be that bad,” he replied.
“It is.”
“Sounds to me like he’s punishing you. How long has it been?”
“Almost twenty-four hours.” Michael said nothing. “Should I call the police?” she asked. “I dunno.”
“I mean … if he’s checked into a motel or something, don’t you think he would’ve called by now?”
“I guess,” he replied, “but maybe you oughta give it a few more …”
“I had this awful dream. Mouse.”
“When?”
“Just now. Before you called. You and I were at a funeral together.”
“You’re just thinking of Jon,” he said.
“No. This was different. It was in a little chapel of some sort. And Brian wasn’t with us.”
“Babycakes …”
“It felt so
real,
Mouse.”
“I know. That’s natural. You’re under a lot of stress. You need sleep, that’s all. If I hadn’t woken you, you wouldn’t have remembered that dream.”
This was true, she decided.
“Besides,” he added, “I think Brian’s just moping.”
“You do? Really?”
“Yeah. I do. Get some sleep, O.K.? It’ll all seem better in the sunshine.”
“O.K.”
“And I’ll see you on Friday.”
“All right. I’m glad you’re having a good time, Mouse.”
“Thanks. Night-night now.”
“Night-night.”
She rose just after ten o’clock and called in sick to Larry Kenan. He was relatively pleasant about it, which only reinforced her nagging suspicion that something was seriously off kilter in the universe. She made herself a defiantly big breakfast. If Brian was trying to make her suffer, she had done more than enough suffering already.