A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [173]
“I have come to you speaking the truth. If you believe me, if you want what I want for the American civilization, for American decency, then we will carry the day.
“Good day, God bless you, and God bless America.”
Chapter 46
Balancing a bucket of ice and a bottle of vodka and glasses, Rita backed her way into the guest room and closed the door behind her with her foot.
Greer sat on the bed, back against the headboard, watching another gathering of pundits on TV. Her face bore a rivulet of tears dripping off her nose and chin and carrying down the colors of her makeup. On the nightstand, a dead pint of vodka.
“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer wept.
“Mal told me he is plugged into Denver. They’ve called for volunteers to man the switchboards.”
“Quinn?”
“He’s with Mal fixing a plan for the balance of the day. No press conference till tomorrow.”
Rita set the tray down, poured another for Greer and a double for herself. She left and came back from the bathroom with wet and dry towels, sat on the edge of the bed, and wiped Greer’s face as one might a kindergarten pupil.
“What about Duncan and Rae and Lisa?” Greer said, still weeping.
“We saw them before Quinn spoke to the nation. They’re with their Uncle Ben now. He’s a really nice man.”
“I’d better get my shit together,” Greer slurred.
“Lemme see. Too late to get back to Denver. Then…I better be here in the morning. You and Mal pissed at me?”
“I knew Quinn wasn’t going to quit,” Rita said, “but I just got damned frightened for a moment. I’d better get my attitude straightened out. I’ll not live in fear.”
“I, uh, got to work out some damage control…this can run out of control like a wildfire,” Greer said.
“Take a deep breath, Greer, and let’s get drunk.”
“Hey, two shiker sikas!”
“The first reports from Denver and DNC are not that bad.”
“Well, now,” Greer said, “we have thirty channels of talking-head experts taken out of cold storage and given electric shocks to get their batteries surging. Frankly, I get my in-depth news from E! Channel and Comedy Central. Oh, that goddamn Quinn is a bastard.”
“How well I know.”
“He’s so wonderful,” Greer wept. “I called Warren and told him to shag ass and get the yacht up from Florida. I’m going to spend five million dollars on myself in Paris. Son of a bitch…we came so close. Now, I’ve got to leave pretty soon…I mean, for all time.” Rita dabbed a new downpour of tears from Greer.
“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer repeated.
“I want you to know what a courageous thing you have done, Greer. It was the work of a genius. And it was overflowing with love. I think I know how much you love him.”
“I love you, too, Rita. Only a very secure woman would have left me alone with Quinn Patrick O’Connell. As I grew to love you more and more, it made things bearable for me.”
This was followed by another slug from the bottle, which Greer scarcely needed. The women embraced and hung onto each other. Greer was feather-light. Rita rocked her back and forth and let her blurt.
Rita fluffed some pillows and stretched Greer out and lay beside her so that she held Greer as her baby, and she stroked Greer’s head and whispered a Mexican lullaby.
“I love you both,” Greer managed.
A moment later there was a knock and the door was opened. There stood Quinn. Rita held her finger to her lips for him to be quiet.
“Some rioting has started,” Quinn said. “Birmingham. Chicago is simmering.”
“Hadn’t you better try to reach the President?” Rita asked.
“He knows what happened and how to reach me.”
“Quinn, I’m with you, man.”
Chapter 47
WASHINGTON
Marine Corps Helicopter Number One swayed from its Camp David pod and swished urgently for Washington. The President tried his earphones and switched on his mike.
“It’s a miracle, Darnell,” Thornton said. “I’ve never believed in divine intervention because it doesn’t have a website or a printout. Can we get the election turned around?”
“A lot is going to take place in the next seventy-two hours. You’ll have to play it statesman and big daddy.”