Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin

door.
    “He’s here,” whispered Mother Mucca.
    Mona slipped out into the starry desert night. A warm breeze blew in from the north, flapping the sleeves of her habit. Mother Mucca took one last look at her new girl, readjusted her wimple and scurried back to the parlor. Then Mona opened the door of Charlene’s cubicle.
    The customer was seated cross-legged on the floor next to the bed. He was wearing the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk.
    “Sister … I have sinned.”
    Mona cleared her throat. “I know, my child.”
    The whip, as arranged, was lying on the bed.

Interrupted Idyll
    T HE TAXI RIDE FROM MANZANILLO OFFERED LITTLE more than crumbling hamburger stands, palm-thatched shanties, and occasional burros rummaging in the roadside garbage.
    Mary Ann’s and Burke’s destination, however, was not to be believed.
    Perched airily above an azure bay, the resort of Las Hadas gleamed like an opium dream from the Arabian Nights. Bougainvillaea blazed electrically against whitewashed walls, gargoyles peered from minarets into sun-drenched courtyards, birds sang and palms swayed.
    And Mary Ann’s heart took flight.
    “Oh, Burke, just look at it!”
    She didn’t mean that, of course. What she meant was: Look at us.
    The beach was a crescent of silvery sand with water so clear that Mary Ann could watch tiny fish darting between her legs. Burke dunked her with infantile glee, holding fast to her waist as they surfaced into the sunshine.
    How long had it been since someone had done that?
    How long had she waited for this smile, these eyes, this strong, simple spirit that had come to her in a world marred by greed and anxiety and computer dating? And how long, dear God, would it last?
    They sunned together on their backs, fingertips touching.
    “Where’s Michael today?” asked Burke.
    “On the ship.”
    “He could have come with us, you know.”
    “I think he wanted to take it easy.”
    “I see.”
    “Burke?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Why did you leave California?”
    There was a pause, and then: “I don’t know. I guess … my father and all.”
    “Your father?”
    “The publishing business. He needed help.”
    “Were you … in the publishing business in San Francisco?”
    “No. I was just … bumming around.”
    “For three years?”
    He rolled onto his side, facing her, smiling slightly. “Are you asking me how rich I am?”
    It did sound that way, and she was horrified by her gaffe. “No, Burke! Really. I was just … Never mind. I’m flustered, I guess.”
    “Why?”
    “Oh, it’s just so damn typical!”
    “What is?”
    “You know. You meet somebody nice, and you get along with them fabulously, so of course they live three thousand miles away! It’s a gyp, that’s all.”
    He slid closer to her and cupped his hand against her cheek. “Was last night a gyp?”
    “No. You know that.”
    He kissed the tip of her nose. “We’ve got a week, Mary Ann. Let’s make the best of it, huh?”
    They ate lunch overlooking the water in a garden of manicured tropical foliage. An artificial waterfall made lush sounds in the swimming pool behind them.
    A child approached wearing a sandwich board that announced the resort’s coming events. “How precious!” said Mary Ann, noting his blue clown’s costume and pointy-toed court jester shoes.
    But as he came closer, she made the discovery that he wasn’t a child at all.
    He was a dwarf.
    Embarrassed, she turned away, hoping the little man would pass up their table for a group of boisterous tourists seated near the pool. He didn’t, though. He approached the young lovers with a toothy, imploring smile, holding a red rose in his outstretched hand.
    Now it was unavoidable. “Burke, have you got a peso or something for him?”
    Her companion didn’t answer. He was chalk white, and still as a corpse.
    “Burke, is something …?”
    His voice was scarcely more than a whimper, a pathetic trapped-animal sound. “Make him go,” he said.
    “Burke, he’s only