Further Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin

Author:Armistead Maupin [Maupin, Armistead]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Gay Studies, Social Science, Gay
ISBN: 9780060149918
Publisher: Black Swan
Published: 1982-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

North to Alaska

PRUE GIROUX WAS WEARING HEELS, FRANNIE NOTED. Stiletto heels on which she tottered precariously as she made her way along the rain-slick Promenade Deck of the Sagafjord. Her gown, as usual, was totally inappropriate, flouncy and cream-colored and dreadful.

Her escort, on the other hand, was as debonair as the Duke of Windsor in his elegant blue blazer, crisp white collar and gray silk tie. Good heavens, thought Frannie, how does she manage to do it?

Prue seemed to waver for a moment when she caught sight of Frannie in the deck chair. Then she smiled a little too extravagantly and clamped a hand on her companion’s arm, as if he were a trophy she was about to present.

“Isn’t this marvelous?” she cooed, meaning the scenery.

“Mmm,” replied Frannie. “Magical.”

“Wasn’t Alert Bay the most precious place? One’s reminded of those little ceramic villages one buys at Shreve’s at Christmastime!”

And sometimes, thought Frannie, one is much too common to get away with using “one” all the time.

“Have you met Mr. Starr?” asked the columnist.

The matriarch smiled as regally as possible and extended her hand, still recumbent and blanket-swathed. “How do you do?” she said.

“Mr. Starr is a stockbroker from London,” beamed Prue.

The woman is impossible, thought Frannie. Who else would volunteer her consort’s credentials so eagerly. “I adore London,” she said vaguely.

The poor man seemed horribly uncomfortable. “I’m not a …”

“He’s not British,” Prue interrupted, squeezing the man’s arm even tighter. “I mean … he’s not a native. He’s an American working in London.”

“I see,” said Frannie.

The man nodded to confirm Prue’s statement, clearly humiliated by her incorrigible pushiness. Well, thought Frannie, here’s one shipboard romance that won’t last the duration of the cruise.

“Where are those precious little orphans?” asked Prue.

Frannie did her best not to scowl. This “orphan” business, like melancholia and mild seasickness, was part of her vacation package. “They’re in the movie theatre,” she said casually, “watching Bugs Bunny.”

The warmest smile imaginable stole across Mr. Starr’s aristocratic features. “They are beautiful children,” he said. “You must be very proud of them.”

“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Frannie, adding quickly: “They aren’t really mine, of course … but I’m alone in the world, and they’re such splendid company, and … well, what else am I going to do with my time?”

Mr. Starr’s response was almost intimate, as if he had known Frannie for years. “I think that’s extraordinarily generous of you,” he said.

The matriarch flushed. “Well, I … thank you, but … well, I get a lot of satisfaction out of it …” Her voice trailed off ineffectually. Mr. Starr was all but caressing her with his eyes. Already, Frannie sensed a rapport with him that she was certain he didn’t share with Prue Giroux.

“We should chat about that sometime,” said Prue.

“Uh … what?” Frannie was still mesmerized by Mr. Starr’s extraordinary gaze.

“The foster grandparent program,” said Prue. “I’m sure my readers would love to hear your comments on that.”

“Oh, yes,” Frannie murmured absently. “That might be … very nice.”

“I can tell you love them,” Mr.

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