Free Significant Others by Armistead Maupin Page B

don’t sound like one, though. Where’s your drawl?”
    Michael was squirming. “I think we’d better move it,” he said. “There’s another tour coming.”
    The three of them left the cellhouse through the main entrance and stood beneath the lighthouse, watching the fog erase the city. “I almost forgot,” said Charlie suddenly. “I wanna take a picture of the shower room.”
    “You didn’t bring your camera,” said Michael.
    “Didn’t I? Damn.” He gave Michael a glare that said Shut up, stupid. “Maybe they sell postcards or something.”
    “Right,” said Michael.
    Charlie turned to Thack. “Keep an eye on him, would you?”
    As Charlie strode away, Thack asked: “Your guardian angel?”
    “He thinks so,” said Michael.
    “Is that KS?” Thack touched the tip of his nose.
    Michael hesitated, then said: “Yeah.”
    “I’ve never actually seen it.”
    Michael nodded. “That’s it.”
    “Is he your lover?”
    “No. A friend.”
    Thack turned back toward the city. “You live over there, huh?”
    “Uh-huh. I can see this light from my bedroom.”
    “Must be nice.”
    “It is,” said Michael. He snatched a pebble off the ground and flung it in the direction of the warden’s house.
    “This is my first time here,” said Thack.
    “How do you like it?”
    “It’s O.K.,” said Thack. “The swimming isn’t much.”
    “The ocean’s a killer,” said Michael, “but the river is nice. You should go up to the Russian River.”
    “I’ve heard of that. Where is it?”
    “Up north. Not far.”
    Thack sat down on a low stone wall and yanked a weed from a crack.
    “How long will you be here?” asked Michael.
    Thack shrugged. “Another week. Give or take a few days.”
    “Where are you staying?”
    “The San Franciscan. On Market Street.”
    “Well, if you need a tour guide … I mean … I’m on vacation myself right now.”
    “Oh … yeah. Well, sure.”
    “I’m in the phone book,” said Michael. “Michael Tolliver. Spelled just like it sounds.”
    Thack nodded. “Great.”
    “Want me to write it down?”
    “No,” said Thack. “I’ll remember it.”
    The return voyage to the city was marked by small talk and biographical data. Thack made a living renovating antebellum houses in Charleston. He was thirty-one years old, seldom ate red meat and never watched Dynasty. His full name was William Thackeray Sweeney, thanks to a mother in Chattanooga, who still taught high school English.
    Charlie pressed Michael for details as soon as Thack had left them at Pier 41. “I want to be matron of honor,” he said. “That’s all I ask.”
    “He won’t call,” said Michael. “Why not?”
    Michael shrugged. “He’s a tourist. He wants instant gratification. He’ll find somebody in a bar or order somebody out of the Advocate.”
    “Don’t be such a cynic,” said Charlie. “It isn’t becoming.”
    They took a cable car up Hyde Street, parting company at Union, where Michael disembarked and walked home to Barbary Lane. When he reached his apartment, Mrs. Madrigal came gliding up the stairs and called to him.
    “Uh … Michael dear?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Brian was by. He asked if you’d give him a jingle.”
    “Did he say what it was about?”
    The landlady shook her head.
    “Probably his nephew,” said Michael. “He’s gay and Brian can’t handle it.”
    She smiled demurely. “I don’t think so.”
    “I hope not. I don’t want him on our side.”
    She cast her eyes upward in the direction of Jed’s apartment, then put a finger to her lips. “There are no sides, dear.”
    He tried to look contrite.
    “He’s young, that’s all. I expect you and Brian can both be of help to him.”
    He seriously doubted this.
    “Call Brian,” said Mrs. Madrigal, heading down the stairs. “I think it’s important.”

The Boy Next Door
    E AGER FOR ESCAPE, BOOTER MANIGAULT LEFT WORK early and drove home to Hillsborough. He found his wife drinking Mai Tais on the terrace, his maid