by Peter Murphy
“What do you mean?” He reached out for the wine and refilled their glasses. The garden was in late summer bloom around them and, when the rain held off, it was warm and lazy.
“You know, did you ever regret getting involved with me?”
“Not at all. What would make you ask such a thing?”
“Well it hasn’t all been rosy.”
“It’s not supposed to be, Jass.”
“I know that, but I was wondering how you were feeling about things.”
“To tell you the truth, I have never been happier—or as close to it as the likes of me can get.”
He lied of course but what else could he do. It was like his mother had said: He’d made his bed and now he was lying in it. Not that it really mattered anymore; he was as happy as the next man.
When he was younger, he thought it would be very different. Back then he thought he would get through university and go on to do something great in the world. He thought he might be the one to find the cure for something or the missing piece to a puzzle that had mystified them all for eons.
But as it turned out, he wasn’t really the learning type. “I’m happy, Jass, and that puts me ahead of most of them.”
“Are you really?”
“I am, and the big reason is that I’m smart enough now to know what’s really important.”
Jacinta lit up. She probably thought that he was referring to her and he did nothing to correct her. What he did mean was that he had come to realize that the plight of mankind was never going to be his concern. His purpose was to tidy up his own little corner of the world and look out for himself and those that depended on him.
Things were going well for him too. His boss was a total idiot and was useless without him. Jerry knew better than to let on he knew but he was the one they all came to when something needed to be sorted out. Even the higher-ups knew and came to him directly.
“That’s so nice to hear. Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like for you if we hadn’t . . .”
“But then we’d never have had Danny.”
Jacinta blew him a kiss and sipped her wine, her eyes shining above the rim of the glass. “Do you think he’s getting on okay?”
“Why wouldn’t he? Doesn’t he have my brains and your good looks? What harm could happen to him? Unless he wears himself out on all those Canadian girls.”
“Oh, don’t say that. I don’t like to think of him off alone. God knows what type of trouble he could be getting himself into.”
“He’ll do just fine. And besides, it’ll do him good to see a bit of the world for a while. Then he can come back and go to university. You know if I had done that, then I would have been ready for life and not always be trying catch up after everything that happened.”
“Jerry? You don’t feel like you wasted your life with me?”
He paused and thought about it. Sometimes he did, particularly when he was younger and lost his patience with her and all that being married meant. That’s what he smoldered over in so many bars in London during his banishment. That and guilt, and that only made things worse and drove him deeper and deeper into that downward spiral. And in the morning as he downed a cure, remorse would settle on his shoulders. He was a piss-poor father and a total fucking failure as a husband, and he had his mother’s voice worming through his head and heart.
“No, I don’t Jess. I think what I wasted was the time it took me to get to where we are today.”
“You know, Jerry, I think that’s the most romantic thing you have ever said to me.” She looked happier than he had seen her since . . . the day he asked her out.
“I still got it then?” He shouldn’t have said that. She deserved a bit more honesty from him. That was one of the things he wasted a lot of time trying to deal with. He shouldn’t have been afraid to show his true feelings. He was no better or worse than any of them. Even his parents. Even Jacinta. “I’m sorry for spoiling the mood and all. What I really wanted to say was I’m not good at that yet—you know—sharing my feelings and all.”
“You know one of the things it took me a long time to get?”
“What’s that?”
“That we share our feelings in a lot of different ways.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I wasn’t talking about you, Jerry. I was talking about myself. You know, sometimes when I look back, I can’t understand why I spent so much time in hiding.”
“Ah now, Jass. Don’t be getting all serious on me now.”
“Let me just say this and then I’ll drop it. Okay?”
“Okay then. Let’s hear it.” He didn’t want to be rude but sometimes, when she had a few glasses too many, she could go very dark on him, almost pulling him back down there with her.
“I want to tell you that I’m sorry that I wasted so much of our time too.” She raised her glass for a toast. “To you and me, Jerry, for making it this far.”
“To you and me,” he agreed as the warm summer sky looked more and more burnished. All of their hard edges were getting dulled and now they could get close without pricking each other. She was right to look at it that way. They had made it this far and things were only going to get better.
“Jerry? What’ll we do now that Danny is out on his own?”
“We’ll try to mind our own business for one thing. We’ll let him fall flat on his face a few times.”
“But we’ll always be there to pick him up again?”
“Of course we will. We weren’t the worst parents, you know? I know we made a few mistakes, here and there . . .”
“Here and there?”
“C’mon, Jass? What the hell did we know and now look at us. Sitting out in the back garden drinking wine and discussing our son. Who, by the way, is heading out to find his place in the world with a good Leaving Cert in his back pocket. There was many before him with less. Some of them didn’t even know how to read or write and they did okay for themselves.”
“But he must get awful cold there, in the winter.”
“He’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out—after wasting some time, of course. But he’ll be all right. And besides, it’s not what it was. We can jump on an airplane and be over to see him anytime you want.”
“Could we really?”
“Sure. We can go wherever you like.” He sipped his drink and measured the moment. “Did you talk to him about the business yet?”
“I wasn’t the one who was supposed to ask him.”
They had argued about it for weeks until they could both see that it was a chance they would be mad to miss out on. Donal was looking for a few shrewd partners. And Gina vouched for it. All they had to do was to borrow some money against the house.
*
Danny and Billie stopped at Harvey’s, just like they did every other Saturday night, coming home from the Windsor or wherever he was playing. He had started to do regular gigs with Frank and Jimmy. They played mostly the old shite, but they were good at it and the crowds were starting to like them.
And Danny was getting better all the time. He even sang a few of his own songs, early in the night before the crowd got going. After that it was The Wild Rover, Whiskey in the Jar, The Black Velvet Band and The Unicorn. It made her smile when Danny looked over at her and pretended to cringe.
She went to all of his gigs before heading back to his place where they’d eat, drink, talk and make love. She’d even started leaving a few things there. He was pretty cool about that, even when he found her pads in the bathroom.
She could tell he liked having her around, and not just for sex. He liked waking up beside her and always got up to get her a coffee, walking all the way to Church Street to get it. And he brought back pastries.
She loved spending Sundays with him, too, wandering through the neighborhood, more and more renovated each week, passing the ‘Gardens’ on their way to the Eaton Centre. She had once answered his if-you-could-only-have-the-same-meal-question with crepes. She could eat them all the time
so Danny brought her to the Magic Pan every Sunday before she took the subway home.
“Did you ever want to try something else?”
“Like what? I like Harvey’s.”
“But it’s every Saturday night. Why don’t we order a pizza next week instead?”
“Why is it that women can never be satisfied? You’re always trying to change things.”
“Like what?”
“Like me.”
“You weren’t that much of a catch.”
“Oh. Am I not good enough for you now?”
“You are now, after I changed you.”
**
When they finally had sex for the first time, he had fumbled so much—and squeezed too hard—she just had to roll him on his side so she could talk to him.
“What’s the matter? Am I doin’ it wrong?”
“You’re in such a hurry. Slow down and let me enjoy it.”
He looked so hurt she regretted it immediately. It was obviously his first time.
“I’m sorry,” she mewled and trailed her fingers along the side of his chest and across his stomach. “I just want it to be special between you and me.”
“Trust me,” he gasped as her fingers trilled along his soft stomach and onto something hard, “it’s getting more special all the time.”
“Really?” She smiled and reached forward to kiss him while her hand stroked him. She slowly changed her rhythm until he rolled on top of her and poked at her until she guided him inside. He plunged into her and took her breath away. She wanted him to start slowly but he was getting carried away.
“Danny, oh Danny, slow down,” but he didn’t seem to hear and ground into her faster and faster. The bed groaned and thumped against the wall but it didn’t slow. And then she didn’t want him to, urging him deeper and faster but he came too fast.
But he got better.
***
“What is it that you want to change about me now?”
“Well, when we get home I want us have sex that is not all about climaxing.”
“What?”
“Trust me, you’ll like it.” She moved ahead and walked backwards in front of him.
“I like the sound of that.” He stepped beside her and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her around until she was back by his side. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well. What do say we get naked first?”
She paused to look up into his eyes, to see if she could trust him to understand. “Then we’ll both put on blindfolds and explore each other all over.”
“How will we know if we’re not peeking?”
“Danny.”
“What?”
“Don’t ruin the mood.”
“Okay, so we get naked and blindfolded. Why couldn’t we just turn the lights out?”
“What I want is for both of us to totally trust each other—at the same time. I want tonight to be a journey of trust.”
“Will we get to eat first, before the journey?”
She flipped his arm away and stood on the sidewalk and glared at him. “Forget it.” She crossed her arms and ignored his pleas. “I’m going to get a cab and go home.”
She waited a few moments until a passing car slowed and the driver asked if she was available.
“Very well,” she compromised. “I’ll call a cab from your place.”
“Billie! C’mon. You know I was only messing.”
“Don’t,” she snapped and pulled away when he tried to take her shoulder.
“Okay. We’ll just walk along together and not say anything. Will that make you happy?”
“What would make me happy is if you’d grow up.”
“Just don’t give him any, honey,” a passing hooker encouraged her before turning to glare at Danny. “Make him beg.”
“Thanks,” Danny called after her. “Thanks for making things worse.”
“You’re welcome, Danny,” the hooker said as she waved and climbed into the curbed car.
“How the hell does she know your name?”
“Sugar? I’ve known Sugar since I first moved down here. Sometimes she asks for a smoke or something.”
“Something?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” He looked like he really wanted her to believe him and led her toward his apartment. “I never . . . ya know . . . hired her or anything like that. I know I come across all cool and suave but,” he held the front door open for her. “I’m dead shy inside. That’s why I was all joking before. I just don’t feel right talking about what we are going to do.”
“What we were going to do.”
He unlocked the second door and followed her up the stairs. “Fair enough, I deserved that.”
They ate in silence for a while but the food helped them relax.
“Why is she called Sugar?” Billie decided to break the ice. He was right. He was shy. That was one of the things she first liked about him. And the way he smiled—it always melted the frost from her heart.
“Who?”
“The . . . prostitute.”
He held up a joint until she nodded and lit it. He took a few deep drags and handed it to her. “They prefer to be called hookers. That way nobody will confuse them with politicians.” He had tried to say it without exhaling and ended up coughing and spluttering.
“So why Sugar?” Billie asked as she inhaled.
“Cos she lets guys snort coke off her body.”
“How do you know that?” she handed him back the joint.
“She told me,” he hissed but he had to cough it out again.
“You can talk to her about sex, but not me?”
“We were just talking one night. She was on break and I was coming home from the Duke.”
She believed him. He was so easy to see through. “Maybe we should try that some time?”
She rose and headed for the bedroom where she picked out two of his ties.
“Does this mean I’m getting another chance?”
She didn’t answer but tied his tie around his eyes and unbuttoned his shirt.
She was nervous too. Despite her reputation, she really only had three lovers before. Two of them in university and both of them were always in such a hurry. She came with them—their determined pounding forced it out of her. It was easy; she was drunk enough but it was never really satisfying and she felt a little ashamed afterwards. Particularly when the boys talked to other boys and within weeks she was known as ‘easy’ and invited to every party.
When she found out why, she stopped seeing anybody but, in her last year, she let herself be seduced by one of her visiting professors. He was fourteen years older than her and promised to teach her so much more. She didn’t mind; sex was complicated and she enjoyed that he took control of everything.
They always had good wine after dinner, listening to Leonard Cohen while he talked about all the brilliance in the world—all the things that others overlooked. In time he’d produce a joint and they would get closer. He never made the first move but responded when she did, touching her and tempting her to open, like a flower.
He talked about it, too, afterwards, as they shared the rest of the joint. He told her all kinds of wonderful things—stolen from poets and dreamers. She knew that, but she didn’t mind. She knew the end of term was coming.
But with Danny, it was different. She would have to guide him and, in doing so, she realized that she cared for him and she loved that feeling.
*
“What would you think?” Billie asked from the bed. The two ties were twisted in the corner and the sheets and blankets were draped across the side of the bed. She was wrapped in his robe—a white one from some hotel in the Caribbean; his uncle brought it back for him. “Of me staying over more often?”
He was about to answer when his phone rang.
5
1981
Patrick Reilly was packed and ready to leave. He wasn’t taking too much as he had his books sent over by ship. He had packed each one lovingly in an o
ld trunk he had dragged everywhere with him. It made it feel more like an adventure.
His uncle was good to his word and had arranged a position for him, teaching, just like he said. He phoned to wish Patrick well too. “All roads . . . you know?”
Patrick couldn’t be sure but he thought he heard a quiver in the bishop’s voice. It might have been doubt or remorse, but it was quickly covered up. “I envy you—a young fella going off to Rome. You have the best part of your life in front of you.”
Or perhaps it was envy?
Notwithstanding, he thanked him for all he had done and meant it. He didn’t blame his uncle. His life was probably just unfolding according to a bigger plan and all that fell to him was to accept it with enthusiasm. The pope had come and gone and filled the whole country with pious renewal, but Patrick Reilly was not going to be a part of it.
“I could send the car to take you out to the airport?”
“No thanks, Uncle, I have arranged for a lift, but let me thank you again and I hope you’ll come out and see me before too long.”
“I will, indeed, Patrick. Now take care of yourself until then. And don’t forget to drop into the café I told you about—the one in the Piazza Della Rotunda. Tell them I said ‘ciao.’ And, if you ever get to the Campo De’ Fiori, say hello to Bruno too.”
“Who?”
“You’ll know when you get there. Take care now, Patrick. God speed.”
*
After the bishop hung up he poured himself a ball of malt. It was a tough business but he had done the right thing. Parish work wasn’t for the likes of Patrick. It was more suited to the likes of Fr. Dolan, a more mercantile-minded individual. Patrick was a good man who would rekindle his relationship with the Lord in the center of it all.
