Leon Uris (10 page)

“Excuse me,” Siobhan said, “I was looking for the brothel. I’ll try down the hall.”

“Mrs. O’Connell?”

“Yes, lovely meeting you in person at last.”

“Oh,
God
!”

Siobhan set the bags down and went to the kitchen cabinet. “I think I need a drink,” she said, and belted down some Lemon Hart before Greer could stop her, staggered to the kitchen table as Greer pumped several glasses of water into her.

Suddenly, they looked at one another and burst out laughing and replayed the grand entrance and went hysterical.

“Thank God Dan wasn’t here!” Siobhan screamed.

“Or Maldonado!”

“Or Maldonado’s daughter!”

“Or Father Sean!”

“Or the dean of admissions!”

“You weren’t exactly expecting this, were you, ma’am?”

*  *  *

BOULDER, 1971

Greer Little was a lover whose mind never strayed far from the scene. All the power pieces concealed in Quinn responded fivefold. Their open boldness of speaking out and then usually acting it out was astonishing.

It got so that the mere touching of one another while walking past each other could set off a conflagration. As apprehensions faded to trust, a cool sweetness settled over them. Time, thank God, stood still. The inevitable parting at the end of a year seemed far away, way down the runway.

When out of kissing distance, they rushed back together. And the humor was salty, raunchy, and very high. Neither of them were out to make the dean’s list but read voraciously when too exhausted to make love. They learned what their schools could give them, mostly learned on the queen-size mattress in the nook, where she went to read, with the kitchen chair for himself.

Once a week was party time. The place overflowed with happy, frustrated, angry, bewildered, and scared campus kids. Drugs were minimal, not so sex. It was the kind of campus where Nixon’s visit to China might get as much discussion as a new psychedelic drug. Oh, if they only had something going like Quinn and Greer.

Little bits at a time, Greer felt all right about giving him little pieces of New York. She did not want him to think she was heading back to some kind of subway or Central Park murder. She understood that Quinn was only partly interested in their trips on the wild side, and this gave her a sense of peace that the city was just not his thing. She’d often think, “We met in the wrong century, darling, but praise the Lord, we stopped and went a little way, hand in hand.”

During the past summer, Greer had cruised the scum holes of Eighth Avenue, purchasing books and magazines and checking out the porn films. The New York Public Library offered another trove. Crossing out and combining, she came up with a list of a hundred and six ways for them to make love.

“Done that, done that,” Quinn said, reading the list. “So, what’s new?”

“Us. Keep reading.”

“
What!
You found this in the New York Library?”

“In the same section with
Mary Poppins
.”

“You didn’t get this at the library. You have a fertile and diseased mind.”

“That’s beautiful, Quinn. You make a girl cry.”

Sometimes they smoked a joint, mostly at parties. Quinn felt he was in control, and she went wild with lust. The best times were three in the morning, waking up drowsy, downing a big glass of o.j. and having a few tokes on the bongo.

Quinn set the drug limit. After seeing two men on the team smash up on LSD and coke, he drew a line. She broke the rule once with cocaine, and he moved out for two weeks until she swore, and kept her promise of, no more coke. “Coke is the devil, baby. The devil is at his smartest when you don’t believe there’s a devil. Chrissake, when you were cruising Eighth Avenue, didn’t you see what it did? How about coke at work?”

“Yeah, some girls and fellows at the studio really busted themselves up. Thank God, I’ve got you.”

The honey kisses—passing a syrupy ice cube into each other’s mouth and letting it melt and run down their necks and licking it off. Daring, risking, they opened each other up entirely.

The touch, the touch, the touch. That’s all it took as a forerunner to a full night’s journey or a quick leap off the pier. They read each other perfectly.

After a few visits to the ranch Dan softened considerably. Siobhan’s usual loveliness was always tempered by the hidden fear that Greer might not return to New York. These two kids were filling up huge storage tanks for a lifetime, for a hundred and twenty years.

The first chill was at Christmas, which they had to awkwardly split between Grand Junction and the ranch. However, it was a good thing they went outside and got some fresh air. Quinn liked her father, a double-A shortstop…

“Dad could have made it to the show, but he could never hit a motherfucking slow curve inside,” Greer explained.

“That was the first thing you taught me,” Quinn said.

“Too bad she was born of the opposite sex. But you know, she sure can manage a team. Little Leaguers. One kid was pushing her button the year they won the state. She soaped out his mouth in front of the rest of them and made him apologize…well, in my estimate Jimmy Foxx was the greatest power hitter of them all because he was right-handed.”

Joyful and Triumphant.

After a gallop through the low meadow Quinn had to carry her into the house and set her in a tub. Roping was out of the question.

O Come Ye, O Come Ye.

NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1971

New Year’s. All the apartments opened their doors. Sad revelers and happy revelers wondered what it meant. Nuclear devastation was all the talk. A downer ran through the land.

But most of those on downers had each other. The New Year’s kiss was always a kiss of hello. In that instant Greer and Quinn knew it was a kiss of goodbye; the awful countdown had begun.

At a late-winter indoor baseball practice, Quinn was whacking the ball as though he had Superman’s eyes. He had crossed a magic line where his psyche could slow the ball down.

She watched him now as though she had turned a page forever and it didn’t read like the old madcap joy of the other page. Although they still had months left on their odyssey, a residue of discontent had begun in the pit of her stomach.

Quinn was, as usual, hunched over the kitchen table, far away, into Joseph Campbell, when she came home rather draggy. She mussed his hair and turned on the teakettle.

“How was your day, honey?” Quinn asked.

“Oh, fine except for one little thing,” she said, sitting opposite him.

“You’re pregnant,” Quinn said.

“How did you know?”

“I can count to twenty-nine.”

She shook her head. His hand pulled her over to his lap. He rubbed her stomach. “Not too much room in there.”

“You don’t seem too upset, Quinn.”

“The way we’ve been going at it, we don’t keep throwing a dare at God. Anyhow, I thought about it early on. Last few days, I’ve thought about it much. We’ve gotten down a lot of road. Let’s talk, Quinn-and-Greer talk.”

“Oh, Jesus, you’re wonderful,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder and allowing herself to sob.

“I love you, Greer. We decide, I’ll abide.”

“My own Reverend Jackson. It’s not that big a deal these days. They’re happening every day on campus. When I found out, I was just going to have it fixed, have an abortion and string you along. I, uh, even made an appointment. I couldn’t do it. I love you, man. We won’t marry and I’ll go on to New York with the baby.”

“That’s got a bad downside, baby. My daughter, my son, I want to raise it. Single parent in Manhattan for a twenty-two-year-old woman? Not when you are set to launch a dynamic career.”

“Adoption?” she whispered.

“No!” he cried. “No! Greer, have the child. I’ll raise it in Colorado, and in time it’ll meet its mother.”

“You’re ready to take on something like this?”

“Very much so.”

Greer wept. “You’re too good for me. I’m a selfish bitch.” She grabbed his hands and pleaded. “You know I can’t start out in New York with an infant.”

“We’ve blown out the lights, Greer. In five thousand years no couple has enthralled each other more. We’re way ahead, baby and all.”

“Suppose we marry other people?”

“He’ll have a mother and a father, and it will be up to you what kind of relationship you want to make. At least he’ll always know where he came from—or she…the thought of a baby girl…really makes me smile.”

*  *  *

After his nap, Father Sean came down from his apartment to a room seemingly sticky with wet tar. Siobhan, Dan, and Quinn were wearing their Eugene O’Neill faces.

“Am I family or am I the priest?” Sean asked.

“I’ve written and talked to you about Greer Little,” Quinn began. “Unfortunately, I didn’t take your advice. You’re right, Uncle Sean, the piper must be paid. Greer is not your ordinary
hausfrau
, no offense, Mom. She’s one of the most brilliant communications students this university has ever put out. She’s also a wild woman. She’s graduating and has three or four jobs waiting for her in New York. We thought we’d like to do one year in paradise before we got on with the nuts and bolts of our lives.”

“And she’s pregnant,” Father Sean said, “but wants to continue on in New York?”

“That’s right.”

“They weren’t normal!” Dan cried.

“That’s what they wanted,” Sean said, “not to be normal. Were you quite wild?”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn replied.

“Were other people involved?” Sean asked.

“No, just the two of us.”

“Drugs?”

“One or two joints a week. Nothing else.”

“I felt,” Siobhan said, “Greer was not right for Quinn from the beginning. I also knew if he went to New York after her or if we disapproved, we’d lose him.”

“She can’t cook,” Dan said, “she can’t sew, she can’t ride, she’s not a Catholic.”

“Shut up, Dan. You love this girl?” Sean asked.

“Yes. We…we…we…won’t marry. That would be a farce.”

“What do you want to do, Quinn?”

“I want her to stay here, carry the baby to term, and have the child. I want to take care of it for the rest of my life.”

“Slut!” Dan bellowed. “Dirty, skinny, rotten slut.”

“Dan, stop it!” Siobhan cried.

“Dad, never say that again! Dad, don’t
ever
say that!”

“Are we so damned certain it’s Quinn’s child?”

“That’s enough, Dan!” Sean commanded. “My Roman collar is off! No and no! You can’t bring a child here into this hatred. Yes, Quinn could leave and this time for good. You are a very decent man, Quinn, but you are innocent of what is required to raise such a child whose mother is alive and in all likelihood might never contact him. Haven’t you had enough of that, Quinn, than to pass down your own misery?”

“You’re not suggesting an abortion,” Siobhan wept.

“Yes, I am,” Sean said, “and God help me.”

“The only way,” Dan mumbled, “is to have her get her abortion and I’ll give her ten thousand dollars.”

“You’ve just told me everything I want to know, Dad. Greer doesn’t want the baby here, same way you didn’t want me here! Too bad my parents let me be born. Go on, man, throw the fetus in a garbage can.”

“Dan, I’m on my hands and knees,” Siobhan cried, “and it will be Quinn’s son.”

“I’m out of here,” Quinn said softly. “Pack my things.”

“Oh, go ahead! Getting to be a routine,” Dan said. “Every time you’ve looked at me since you were ten, Quinn, you’ve blamed me. You’ve looked at me in that way that said, you’re not my father. What about
my
feelings! I took it all, but this is it. You and that tramp!”

Siobhan was speechless, clinging to Quinn.

“And you, Father Sean, advising me to kill my baby. Have it in a public toilet and throw it in a Dumpster,” Quinn cried.

“Yes, I did,” Sean said meekly.

“Before you go crawling back to that little whore, take this with you. Greer’s a whore just like your birth mother. Your mother was a nun and a whore!”

“Is that true?”

“No,” Sean said.

“My church…my church telling me to spend my entire life with a lie. My priest, my uncle saying murder it.”

Quinn walked out without looking back.

A sense of urgency, a need for clear thinking, enveloped Quinn as he sped back to Boulder. The idea of fatherhood swelled up in him like Billy Bigelow in
Carousel
: my little boy…my little girl…. This kid will know love. This precious little life will not be wasted by human haggling over commas and semicolons. “No nightmares for you, honey.”

He arrived at the apartment knowing what he must do. Whatever, however, she would carry the baby to term. Whatever, however! The door was unlocked. He flung it open.

“Greer!”

He saw her cap and sunglasses on the table. “Where the hell are you?” He flung open closet doors, tried the bathroom. Empty. A faint sniffle caught his ear. She was curled up against the wall beneath a long worktable.

“Baby, come out of there, come on.”

She crawled out, fell into him, and became hysterical.

“I had it taken care of!” she screamed.

All one could hear was painful breathing and a sudden return to calm. “The minute I had it done, I realized what I’d done. I love you, man. I can’t leave you! To hell with New York, Quinn. I’ll stay. Marry me and we’ll make another baby!”

He provided comfort and shelter and soft, sad smiles. Their time had passed. And every night as he held her he felt her pain growing smaller and smaller and then the urge to be Greer again, fly away Greer, took over.

And she left.

TROUBLESOME MESA, 1973

It had been a long time since Carlos Martinez had come home. On the last occasion, they’d had his graduation from the University of Texas and he took night school in law. He had been taken by a prestigious law firm in Houston which handled masses of Mexican business.

Although very much of a junior partner, Carlos quickly established he would earn his salt. He spent much of his time in legal work below the border and often in many places in South America and the Caribbean.

Carlos wore the best. In a short time he knew he would be driving the best, sailing the best, and perhaps even flying the best. He was clever and brilliant and forceful, a rare combination for one so young.

Coming back to the ranch was a mixed blessing. His father and mother, Pedro and Consuelo, had reduced their workloads and enjoyed the comforts of coming age.

Juan, the youngest of his brothers, was the rancher. Under the watch and direction of his father, Juan evolved to take over as foreman.

The Martinez family was a twenty-five-percent partner in the ranch, so the generations were doing their proper thing. At least one son in the Martinez
family would remain.

The O’Connells? Quinn was gone, out of contact with everyone except Reynaldo Maldonado and his daughter, Rita. A permanent pall of dusk had fallen over Dan and Siobhan.

Fiesta!

The entire valley, including Mormons, came for the spice and feast. Carlos devoured the female attention as well as the awe of the ranchers’ boys. “See who I am!” his manner said. “I will drive a Corvette next year! You didn’t think Carlos would be so great, did you?”

The valley girls seemed rather heavy and frumpy to him. Their best clothing was drab. Ranch girls were for ranch boys, who were not so particular.

It was all a great victory for Carlos, the return of the triumphant son!

And then he saw Rita Maldonado and her father wending their way through the crowd to him.

“Jesus,” he whispered to himself.

How old would she be now? Seventeen. Reynaldo had never painted or sculpted a woman as beautiful as his daughter. She was Aphrodite with dark hair and just enough of her mother’s Nordic genes to refine her features.

“Carlos,” she cried, throwing her arms about him.

“You’ve grown up.”

That included an observation of her bosom and everything else. They remained standing and looking at one another until people around them became uncomfortable.

They rode their horses on the familiar trails they had ridden as children and young people. Only now Quinn was missing. Quinn’s absence hovered over the homecoming and dampened their joy.

They dipped their feet in an icy stream near big boulders a thousand feet above the ranch.

“It’s not the same without Quinn here, is it?” she said.

Carlos shook his head. “I saw him a few times when I was in San Diego on business. He didn’t talk much about why he left Troublesome.”

“I don’t know, either,” Rita said. “He had this girl, her name was Greer, whom he loved very much. When she went away to New York on an internship, he moaned on Mal’s shoulder almost every night. Then she came back, and after a year they broke up and Quinn left. Neither his mother nor father will speak about him. I know he doesn’t write to them. Some kind of Catholic thing, I think.”

“It’s not the same,” Carlos repeated. “See, even though I was the older, it was Quinn who protected me in the school yard and taught me so much.”

“And you taught him, too, Carlos. Anyhow, we exchange letters every month. I would write him more often, but I don’t want him to owe me letters. You know what I mean.”

“Funny, he’s always been a sort of hero to me,” Carlos said. “I think I’ve come to learn his lessons by practicing law now. So much of law is rotten and lies and cheating. I realized, only recently, that Quinn was never that way. If he promised you something, it was done.”

Carlos stared at Rita, hard, found a large sitting rock, and put on his boots. He was numb from the sight of her. When she had stepped into the water, she had held up her wide, twirling skirt and showed her magnificent legs, and her scooped blouse showed her magnificent bosom. Rita came to him pensively.

“I suppose we’ve both lost him,” Carlos said.

“What do you mean, Carlos?”

“I remember the day you and Mal moved into your house. The day after that you were in love with Quinn. What were you? Six or seven?”

“Did I show it that much?”

“I saw it. The three of us were together a lot.”

“Well, Quinn Patrick O’Connell has never had eyes for me. I am still his baby sister. I cried alone a lot when he fell in love with that Greer woman. And when they broke up, I can’t say that I was unhappy. I sent him photographs to indicate I wasn’t a little girl anymore, but he didn’t seem to notice. I suppose he must have a hundred women in San Diego.”

Carlos said nothing, which said everything.

“I was a fool, Carlos. No more. I want to get into things.”

“What things?”

She put her arms around his neck and drew her lips to his and pressed her body against his as a punctuation mark. Carlos held her at arm’s length in amazement. She kissed him again, but he spun away.

“Is this your way of getting even with him?” Carlos asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

“What do you know?” Carlos asked.

“I know that for the last three years you have had a yearning for me. And I sent you photographs because I wanted you to yearn for me. When I knew you were coming to Troublesome, I also knew that the time had come for me to enter the society of womanhood. I know,” she went on haltingly, “how gentle you are and that I trust you and I want you to be gentle with me.”

They flung themselves at each other and held on and rocked…

“So unfair to Quinn,” Carlos cried.

“No! He made his choice. It is not unfair to Quinn.
You can’t feel guilty for a man who has spurned you as a woman. Guilty of what? Discovering my lover was you all this time?”

Their bursting forth let loose torrents of restraint, a restraint of younger years. Rita and Carlos were as wild as the giant boulders and icy stream and needled ground. During the week of his stay, they went off each day, mesmerized.

When the end of the stay was at hand, both of them were sad. “How hard is it for you to get to Denver?” Carlos asked.

“I can, on weekends.”

“What about Mal?”

“I’ll tell him I have a boyfriend in Denver.”

“That part of it is true, but what about the other?”

“Quinn is gone from my life,” she said. “So, why do we have to lie?”

“I don’t know what I don’t know,” Carlos said, “only that you and I as lovers would further poison the well with the O’Connells and my parents. Rita, I have never known days like these. I love you. I want you to be mine always.”

“But?” she asked.

“I am only starting my career. I am not so far along that I can take a wife. I travel endlessly. We have an office in Denver I can work out of once or twice a month.”

Reluctantly, Rita had to come around to his way of thinking. “Papa’s heart would be broken if I did not finish my schooling,” she said at last.

“We’ll see each other in Denver,” he asked pleadingly, “until the way becomes clear for us?”

“Something is going to happen, Carlos, something bad.”

“Don’t be superstitious,” he said.

Carlos Martinez would be a fine choice, she thought. I’m glad he was the first man. Yes, a fine
choice, if she could not have Quinn.