Tales of the City: A Novel (P.S.)
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For almost four decades Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City has blazed its own trail through popular culture—from a groundbreaking newspaper serial to a classic novel, to a television event that entranced millions around the world. The first of nine novels about the denizens of the mythic apartment house at 28 Barbary Lane, Tales is both a sparkling comedy of manners and an indelible portrait of an era that changed forever the way we live.
“I’m getting paranoid, I guess.” “The Old Man again?” “Yeah. He put the screws to me about DeDe.” “He’s suspicious?” “Always.” “What does DeDe think?” “You’re assuming she knows how to.” “She’s a tad thick, but she does pay for your Wilkes Bashford addiction … and she’s got a nice box.” Beauchamp frowned. “At the opera, Beauchamp.” “Very funny.” “I thought so.” “I didn’t come here to talk about my wife, Peter.” “Hmm … that’s funny. Everybody else did.” Silence. “Sorry. Cheap shot.
cleaned up my act about a dozen years back, and the old name was the first to go.” “What was it?” “Don’t be naughty. If I’d wanted you to know it, I wouldn’t have changed it.” “But…?” “Why the Mrs.?” “Yes.” “Widows and divorcees don’t get … what’s Mona’s word? … hassled. We don’t get hassled as much as single girls. You must have figured that out by now.” “Who’s hassled? I haven’t had so much as an obscene phone call since I moved to San Francisco. I could use a little hassling, frankly.”
prayer. Werner was never there when he needed him. He wasn’t half bad, actually. A little wobbly on the turns, but nothing to snicker at. After five minutes, he had gained enough confidence to concentrate on serious cruising. So far, his favorite was a blond guy in chinos and a blue Gant shirt. He looked like the vice president of every high school class in northern Florida. He probably still drove a Mustang. And he was skating alone. Michael moved in the direction of his quarry, overtaking
dress. Can you say that?” Alexandra looked slightly put out. “This is a dirndl,” she said flatly. “Oh, well…” Mary Ann stood up, grinning at Norman. “I asked for that, didn’t I?” The trio dined on omelets at Mama’s. Alexandra ate in silence, studying Mary Ann. Afterwards, in Washington Square, the grownups talked, while Alexandra chased pigeons in the sunshine. “She’s very bright, isn’t she?” Norman nodded. “She gives me a complex sometimes.” “Have you known her parents long?” “About …
do you think I look O.K.?” He wiggled her earlobe and kissed the tip of her nose. “Better than O.K. Even without that damn wig.” She beamed. “You know what? I’ve got the whole day off, and the Camaro’s full of gas....” “I’ve gotta get home, Candi. I’m expecting a phone call.” “It wouldn’t take long. I could show you a pumpkin patch. They’re beautiful right now.” He shook his head, smiling. “Do you want me to drive you home?” “There’s a bus, isn’t there?” “Yeah. If you want. It’s no