Read Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others for Free Online Page B

gave up the effort and left.
    He dressed hurriedly, avoiding conversation, then remembered his manners and thanked the host. As he headed down Noe toward his car, he stopped long enough to admire the reddish remnants of a sunset behind Twin Peaks.
    He could still hear the music down at Eighteenth and Castro.

A Handsome Offer
    W REN DOUGLAS AND THE LIMOUSINE DRIVER HAD watched the sunset from her big bed at the Fairmont. The ripening nectarine sky had been a perfect backdrop for their postcoital cuddling, a pagan benediction of sorts.
    “Does it do that often?” she asked.
    “Sometimes,” he replied. “When the weather’s warm like this.”
    Idly, she massaged his temples with her fingertips, then worked her way up to his scalp. He gave a little faux-Stallone moan and repositioned his head against her chest, as if he were plumping pillows. His dark, curly hair was pungent with Tenax.
    “This would make a fabulous ending,” she said. “The credits should be rolling over that sunset. Here endeth the book tour.”
    “Two more cities,” he mumbled.
    She gave his cheek a reproving whack. “Don’t remind me.”
    “Portland and Seattle, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You don’t wanna do it?”
    “I wanna do nothing,” she said. “I wanna lie around and be a total slug.”
    The bedside phone rang, mangling her reverie. “That’s my publicist,” she said. “I’ll put money on it.” With one hand still buried in the driver’s curls, she grabbed the receiver and barked into it. “Yes, Nicholas my love, I’m still alive and I’m still on schedule.”
    There was no immediate response, no telltale bleat of laughter from the adenoidal Nicholas, so she realized her guess had been wrong. Eventually, the caller said: “I beg your pardon. I’m trying to reach Miss Douglas … Miss Wren Douglas?”
    “You got her,” she replied. “I thought you were somebody else.”
    “Oh,” said the caller.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Well … I have some business I’d like to discuss with you. My name is Roger Manigault. I’m chairman of the board of Pacific Excelsior.”
    Excelsior? What? The packing material? What could a fat girl do for an excelsior company? “Sorry,” she said. “Never heard of it.” Using her free forefinger, she traced the fleshy oval of the driver’s lips, then popped the finger into his mouth. He sucked on it obligingly.
    “We make aluminum honeycomb,” explained the caller. “Among other things.”
    She didn’t know what that was and she didn’t care. “Oh … right. Why don’t I give you my agent’s number? You can tell her what you’ve got in mind. This really isn’t the best time to discuss …”
    “I’m in the lobby, Miss Douglas. I know this is irregular, but … time is of the essence. If I could have just ten minutes with you.”
    She looked down at the classic features of the fallen Pompeiian sprawled against her chest. “Look, Mr…. whatever. Maybe if you call tomorrow …”
    “There’s a handsome fee involved.”
    She hesitated a moment, remembering her lust for shoes, envisioning how her Chicago loft would look with pink neon tubing around the windows. “Oh, yeah?” she said. “How handsome?”
    The driver looked up at her and narrowed his eyes. She smirked and gave his earlobe a wiggle.
    “Five thousand dollars,” said the caller. “For three or four days of your time.”
    “Look, Mr….”
    “Ten thousand, then.”
    She muffled the receiver and spoke to the driver. “Find my Filofax, would you, doll? I think it’s in the other room.”
    The driver looked puzzled.
    “My appointment book,” she explained. “It’s in one of the drawers. Just check, O.K.?”
    When he was out of the room, she uncovered the receiver and said: “Look, does this involve sex?”
    The caller seemed prepared for that question. “No,” he said quietly and almost immediately. “I can explain things better if you’ll meet me downstairs. I’m in the Cirque