Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

arrested for … I don’t know what. All right, big deal. You’re seventeen. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
    A half-lidded smile bloomed on the kid’s face as he returned his sweat pants to their rightful position.
    Wren clapped her hand to her chest and heaved a little whinny of relief. “God,” she muttered to no one in particular.
    Ikey moved to the table and picked up a sweet roll almost as big as his face.
    “It seems to me,” said Wren, now angered by his nonchalance, “you could find a subtler way to tell people.”
    The kid licked the edge of the pastry, then shrugged. “Saves talk.”
    “Don’t give me that.”
    Another shrug.
    “You like doing it.”
    He set the roll down and fixed her with the same sweet spaniel gaze he used on his television father. “Lady, if you spent your whole fucking life impersonating a seven-year-old, you’d rip your pants off every now and then, too.”
    She smiled, realizing his predicament for the first time. “Yeah; I probably would.”
    “I’m a fan of yours,” he added. “I don’t wanna fight with you.”
    She was embarrassed now. “Look … everything’s cool, Ikey.”
    “Isaac.”
    “Isaac,” she echoed.
    “Can I light my cigar now?”
    “No way.” She softened this ultimatum with another smile. “I really can’t handle ‘em, Isaac.”
    He nodded. “Are you mad ‘cause I called you foxy?”
    “Not a bit. I appreciate that.”
    “Well, I appreciate what you’re doing for … people who don’t fit the mold.”
    In half a dozen words, he had explained the bond that linked them; she was unexpectedly moved. “Hey … what the hell. I like doing it. I mean, most of the time. This is the end of a tour, so I’m a little antsy, I guess. You know how that can be.” She wanted this to sound like a confidence shared with another professional.
    He emitted a froggy chuckle. “Yeah.”
    “I watch your show all the time,” she said.
    This seemed to please him. “You do?”
    “I think you’re amazingly believable. Most TV kids are so cloying, you know … too cute for words. Plus, I like your scripts.”
    He gave her a businesslike nod. “They’re gettin’ better, I think.” He hesitated a moment, then said: “Look, can I ask you something?”
    “Shoot,” she said.
    “I don’t want you to get pissed off again.”
    She smiled at him. “I’ve over that now. Don’t worry.” As a matter of fact, she felt completely comfortable around him. He’d done nothing but tell her the truth. “Go ahead,” she said. “Ask away.”
    After another significant pause, he said: “Can I put my hand … in there?” He was pointing to her cleavage.
    She pursed her lips and scrutinized his face. That spaniel look was doing its number again. “For how long?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Twenty seconds.”
    “Ten,” she counteroffered.
    “O.K.”
    “And no jiggling.” She bent over to afford him easier access. “Make it quick. We’ve got a show to do.”
    Isaac’s arm was engulfed to the elbow when the door to the green room swung open. The dumbfounded woman who stood there was the woman whose likeness adorned the walls. “Oh … excuse me. I …”
    “Hey,” said Wren. “No problem.” She removed Isaac’s arm with a single movement and straightened up. “I lost an earring.” She reached down and gave the kid’s shoulder a pat. “Thanks just the same, Ikey. I’ll look for it later.”
    The television hostess became a stalagmite, then cast her stony gaze in Isaac’s direction. “The director wants to see you on the kitchen set, Ikey.”
    The kid said “Yo” and strode toward the door. He gave Wren a high sign as he left.
    “Well,” said Wren, turning back to the anchoroid, “you must be Mary Ann.”
    The woman wouldn’t melt. “You must be sick,” she said.
    “Now wait a minute.”
    “I’ve done shows on child molestation, but I never thought I would—”
    “That child,” said Wren, “is seventeen years old!”
    “Well, I don’t see what … Who told you that?”
    “He did.”
    Thrown, the anchoroid thought for a moment, then said: “And I suppose that makes it all right.”
    “No,” Wren replied evenly. “That makes it none of your business.”

Member in Good Standing
    T HE SHOW HADN’T GONE AS MICHAEL HAD EXPECTED. Instead of a freewheeling romp, there’d been stiffness and long silences and palpable tension in the air. The trouble had begun, he suspected, when Mary Ann introduced Wren Douglas to the studio