Resistance is futile

He has two moms, I have a suspicious boyfriend and there are years between us. But I can't say no.

By Tracy Quan

Jan 24, 2000 | Sunday afternoon, November 7

"I can't, I just can't," I said, pulling away from Randy's kiss. "Not here!" We were alone in the hallway outside Room 603, where Anabel and Roxana were resting up for our meeting with Lucia, Molly and the Global Collective.

Randy kissed me again and, though my entire body responded, I kept pulling myself away. As I led him toward the elevator, I wanted to say: It's grotesque to think I once discussed blow jobs, hourly rates and how-to-fake-anal-sex with Anabel -- your biological mom. Embarrassing to think that your mother once escorted me to a bachelor party with two other girls ... How can I continue to be your lover? The thought of that blabbering woman knowing I had sex with her son makes me want to scream; the things she could tell him about me ... Jasmine was right: Civilization will implode if we know too much about our sex partners.

"Look," I asked him, "does Jeannie -- Anabel -- your mother have any idea what we ..." Randy was looking at me oddly. "That we've been -- this summer -- "

"That we're neighbors?" he asked abruptly. "That you go to the gym where I work? That I like you? What?"

I felt my face heating up as I tried to explain. "She saw the way I was looking at you! Does she know we've slept together?"

"What are you thinking? I don't talk about my sex life with either of my mothers," he said, rather tersely. When I receded into embarrassed silence -- yeah, what was I thinking? -- he touched my waist gently. "Anabel can probably tell that something's going on but she doesn't have to know what it is. People can be attracted to each other without fucking," he added. The elegance of this worldly concept impressed me -- especially coming from a guy whom I once regarded as overly simple.

In the lobby, we ran into Barry who was surprised to see me in deep conversation with the very guy he had helped me to elude. Ever the discreet confederate, Barry was prepared to walk right by but I stopped him. "This is my neighbor, Randy," I said. Randy immediately recognized the notorious Barry Horowitz.

"Randall Hoffman. I'm Anabel Weston's son," he said, very much the forthright, upright Boy Scout. They shook hands confidently. "I came out here to see Anabel before she -- well, she might go to jail for a long time."

"We know," said Barry. "That's why Nancy put me together with Anabel's supporters in NYCOT."

"She did?" Randy looked, again, so surprised and adoring that I wondered how our relationship could remain a secret.

Sunday, later

Our meeting with Molly's collective took a whole new direction when Lucia arrived, wearing a red rayon shift over her voluptuous form. She threw a small shopping bag onto the large conference table. "April has been disappeared!" Lucia reported, loud and distraught. "This was left in the room. Nothing else."

Jasmine examined the bag's contents -- some crumpled papers with phone numbers on them, a local map, a San Francisco Zagat guide and a lot of used tissues. Anabel, her bright orange lips pursed around a straw, sipped on a Diet Pepsi, and fluttered her thickly painted eyelashes nervously.

"What does this mean?" Lucia wailed.

"Nothing," Jasmine said, staring hard at the big-lipped, big-voiced Lucia. "Except that she's left San Francisco. This was just April's trash bag."

"She did not choose to leave!" Lucia insisted.

"How so, Lucia?" Molly asked.

"Last night she said I was the sister she never had! We talked about buying a house together -- "

"Ha!" Anabel interjected. "Join the club."

" -- writing our book together. She told me I would meet her agent next week ... She could not just leave without me! She wanted to come to Rio and help me with my outreach program -- the street children ... my street children."

Cozy von Booty tried to comfort Lucia.

"April was never interested in your soup kitchen," Jasmine said bluntly. "Or your urchins." She began extracting the crumpled-up notes and putting them in her handbag.

"What are you doing?" Molly said, her Aussie twang growing more belligerent. "You can't take those things. It's Global Collective property."

"If it's anyone's property, it's April's, or maybe the city of San Francisco's, since it was meant for the dump. I'm researching April's movements, I want to see what these phone numbers are -- "

"Listen here -- " Molly reached across the table almost knocking Allison off her chair. Jasmine grabbed everything and darted toward the door. "Don't come near me!" she warned Molly. "Or I'll have your legs broken, you fucking busybody! I'm the only person here who's not afraid of you -- and don't forget it."

Next Page: Alone with Randy; he's known all along

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