Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others by Armistead Maupin Read Free Book Online Page A

you to meet me first. Before you said no.”
    “Get real,” she said, just as the waitress returned with their drinks. She nursed hers for a while, saying nothing, regarding him out of the corner of her eye.
    “I’ve never done anything like this,” he said.
    “That’s a comfort,” she replied dryly.
    “Do you think I would … do this, if …”
    “Where did you see me?” she asked.
    He looked confused. “What do you mean?”
    “What set this off?” She laughed. “I mean, ten thousand dollars, Booter. That ain’t whoremongering, that’s … Christ, I don’t know what it is.”
    “You’re not a whore,” he said glumly.
    “Answer the question.”
    He looked down at his drink. “I saw your picture in Newsweek. I think you’re an extraordinarily lovely woman.”
    She nodded slowly. “So you read my book and decided: What the hell—maybe I’ll have a shot at it.”
    “No,” he said.
    “What?”
    “I haven’t read your book.”
    She drew back, affronted for the first time all evening.
    “I stay busy,” he explained apologetically. “There’s time for a little Louis L’Amour but not much else.”
    “Are you married?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Are you really … you know … chairman of the board and all that?”
    “You can check me out,” he said. “I’m not a lunatic.” He looked at her earnestly. “I’m sorry if I insulted you. I’m a rich man, but not a young one. I wanted to make it worth your while.”
    “Oh, please,” she murmured, rolling her eyes.
    He stood up to leave. “Let’s forget I ever—”
    “Sit down,” she ordered, seizing his hand. It was large and fleshy, surprisingly strong.
    He obeyed her.
    “How old are you?” she asked.
    “Seventy-one,” he replied.
    “I’ve had lovers that old,” she said. “You’d know that if you’d read my book.”

Generation Gap
    B RIAN’S NEPHEW TURNED OUT TO BE A LANKY REDHEAD, as soberly and self-consciously devoted to the Wet Look as Brian had once been to the Dry. Jed was an average-looking kid, barely rescued from dorkiness by a rudimentary grasp of current teen fashion. (He affected hightop Reeboks of varying hues and let his shirttails hang out beneath his crew-neck sweaters.) For some reason, Brian felt a little sorry for him.
    “So,” he said one night after dinner, “you’re a sophomore next year, huh?”
    Jed nodded, finishing off the last piece of pizza. They were seated at a card table Mrs. Madrigal had hauled up from the basement. Except for a bookshelf and a battered sofa, this was the only furniture in the candlelit room. Here and there, the landlady had compensated for the austerity by cramming jelly jars with yellow roses from her garden.
    “I remember my sophomore year,” Brian offered, trying to draw the kid out. “I screwed around the whole time. The ol’ freshman terror had gone, and the girls started lookin’ good.”
    No response. Zilch.
    He tried again: “Guess things haven’t changed all that much, huh?”
    “I party some,” answered Jed, measuring out his words, “but I have to keep my grades up if I want to be competitive in the job market.”
    Oh, right, thought Brian. Spoken like a true automaton of the state.
    “Cissie and I have worked out a plan.”
    “Cissie’s your girl?”
    The kid nodded. “We wanna get married my first year in law school and start a family and all. But that takes money, so I figure I’d better graduate with at least a three point six or I won’t get into Harvard Law School. The more prestigious firms never hire out of the … you know, minor law schools.”
    Brian repressed an urge to stick his finger down his throat.
    “You gotta plan,” added Jed. “Families cost money.”
    “Right.”
    “Of course, I don’t need to tell you that. Look how long you and Mary Ann had to wait.”
    This observation was not so much malicious as naive, Brian decided. “We didn’t have to wait,” he said quietly. “It’s what we both wanted. We were both in