A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [41]
Dan and Siobhan met Greer by telephone. Dan felt it was rather serious because Quinn was spending the summer very much alone except his visits to Maldonado and a long week when Carlos came home.
Was Dan more desperate to know more about Greer—or more desperate not to rock the boat?
“She Catholic?”
“Nope. Why?”
“Well, you know it’s better if everyone’s the same religion.”
“Why?”
“You know, kids and all.”
“Dad, we’re not that serious about each other.”
“Sure, good,” Dan would say, relieved.
“Greer a good cook?”
“Pizza Hut’s finest.”
“She a Nixon person?”
“She’s a Kennedy liberal.”
“They say most of the girls at Colorado are on the wild side.”
“You mean, like Mom?”
The feeling was forlorn as August ended and Labor Day led to the new semester.
Greer had not returned as promised, and he could feel the apprehension in her voice. Phone calls had slowed to a trickle. Greer told him she’d be working on late shifts or have to cover something out of town or would be a second teamer on a big event in Manhattan.
No calls for ten days. Quinn didn’t complain as he braced for the fall.
“Son,” Dan said with great empathy, “why don’t you bring one of your girlfriends up to the ranch and head up to the cabin for the weekend? You’ve been getting calls from everyone else all summer.”
“Except from Greer.”
“You haven’t smiled much this summer, either.”
“Appreciate your sympathy, Dad, but let’s call it for what it is. You’d be just as happy if she stays in New York.”
“Yes and no. I don’t like to see you this unhappy. I’m your father, and I’m entitled to an opinion. Greer Little will never give you what you need. The pain of losing her will diminish. It simply wasn’t meant to be.”
“Never truer words spoken,” Quinn said with a saddened voice.
Siobhan’s foot kicked the screen door open, and she set a pair of grocery bags on the counter.
“Any more groceries?”
“Yes.”
As he went out the back door, the phone rang and Siobhan took it. When Quinn returned, she handed him the phone, appearing somewhat dumbstruck. Dan had his face halfway down his coffee cup. Siobhan smiled very weakly as she left the room with Dan.
“Quinn,” he said.
“I’m on the way back to Colorado,” Greer said at the other end. “Baby, I haven’t been laid all summer. Can’t fight you, man.”
Quinn’s sigh was complete with vocals.
“Here’s the skinny. I’m flying to Junction to see my family. I’ll be at your apartment sometime Sunday.”
“Me, too. We’ve got a round-up in the high country and a branding, but I’ll be in Sunday as well. Baby, is this for real?”
“Changed your mind?”
“No way.”
Greer arrived first, bursting with Manhattan stories she wanted to share but afraid they’d bother as much as please Quinn. Like the madness in the increasingly strong gay community and women’s lib, she had said she had not had sex, which was virtually true, but the dancing until four, the party refreshments and the speeded-up scene…the vastness of the New York Public Library, the height of the Empire State, the whiz of graffitied subways. One night dancing, one night maudlin. She didn’t let on about the staggering pain of his loss.
Whatever! Greer Little did not go unnoticed anywhere!
Quick, she said to herself at Quinn’s apartment, before he arrives from Troublesome. She opened the first of two suitcases. Out came a trapeze to hook over the beams above the mattress in the nook. A whip, but mercifully covered in velvet, handcuffs, and…candles: big candles, little candles, smelly candles, floating candles, Christian candles, Jewish candles. There were enough undergarments to outfit a small chorus line—or a chorus line of small women. The balance of the suitcase held a variety of adult toys.
The second case held the artist’s paraphernalia. Greer undressed and stood before the bathroom mirror. First on went an orange-colored wig; then