Macgregor Tells the World

1 Above all, the quest. MacGregor WestMac, or simply West, or even Ho-ho, or sometimes just Soldat duBoishad been walking past a certain Pacific Heights mansion in the city of San Francisco over the course of several weeks. He'd been recently delivered a shoe box full of his mother's loose ends, and a stack of empty envelopes in it had borne this return addressas much to go on as anything he'd ever possessed. It had brought him to the outside of a place that looked more like a civic building than a residence. But he could not get up the nerve to apply his knuckles to the door. June. The hemisphere was heating up, all over but here. Fog rising in floes off the bay. Housekeepers and nannies, gardeners and florists, all wrapping up their work for the day. Quaint bumps in the sidewalk, approved bumps, because nothing was out of place around here. An older couple strolled by, walking pugs in handsome sweaters. "Evening," Mac said. "Good evening," they replied. Around here, the animals dressed better than he did. How many serfs had it taken to quarry and haul this granite here, to build this looming edifice? Tonight balloons tied to the front posts smacked lightly against one another in the mist, and the windows flickered with childish silhouettes. Not the time to knock and ask about a matter concerning only him. Even so, his talent for loitering was rewarded. The front door flew open, and he froze beside the trunk of a street-side mock orange tree to see who emerged. Not a whoa what. A bed on wheels. The sort that folds in half like a sandwich and rolls squeaking out of the closet when a guest appears. This one was being yanked onto the front landing by a handful of adolescent girls. And with a full-size person wedged within the frame, thrashing and trappedthe unexpected sight seemed like an omen. Two bare soles protruded from one side, a set of shoulders and a downward-facing head from the other. One mischievous girl peered up and down the street. Others were busy securing the bed with string. Then, to Mac's surprise, they all dashed back into the house. Firmly shutting the door. Leaving the bed alone outside. He heard a muffled "Help!" His mouth felt dry. Should he butt in? Spoil the game? "Help," the voice cried again, and he ambled over to offer a hand. "This as serious as it looks?" he asked. Her face was upside down, hidden by a spread of auburn hair as full as a hula skirt. "Very!" she said. "My narm is numb." "That's the worst." He began to struggle with the iron latches on the sides of the folding bed. The brackets were jammed, strangled with yarn. "How did this happen?" "Oh, it's burning now! What's wrongcan't you get it?" In the bright porch light, Mac fumbled with the knots while the crummy old frame jittered on its casters. His suave rescue attempt was fizzling away. What a pitiful sensation it was when his arm brushed the bottom of her stone cold feet. Pitiful because it was the most contact he'd had with a woman in a long while. Pitiful because the feet were cute, and though they belonged to a total stranger whose face he had yet to see, it crossed his mind to warm them with kisses. And perhaps most pitiful because he associated frigid feet with his mother, cuddling him as a child, taking advantage of his thermally desirable young trunk. Then it so happened that he worked the flesh of his index finger too near the main hinge. "Wait, now, don't move," he said hoarsely. She moved. "Nnnnn!" The folded bed keeled over, impactMcKenzie, Elizabeth is the author of 'Macgregor Tells the World ', published 2007 under ISBN 9781400062256 and ISBN 140006225X.