Read Online The Green Road by Anne Enright - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Enright
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turns away from him, and zips up, and they don’t really hang out after that. Married now, and moved to Phoenix.
‘So he must have got that much sorted out.’
‘Huh,’ said Dan.
A little bit later, Dan said, ‘I am going to get married,’ and he sat up, alert to the sea.
‘Oh?’ said Billy.
‘I am.’ Dan kicked the end of the towel and pulled it square on the sand.
‘Anyone in mind?’
‘Yep.’
He studied the horizon. ‘I love her,’ he said. ‘And I love the look of her and the shape of her, and I love the way her body is, and I just think it feels right. All of that. You know?’
‘Great.’
‘We have sex,’ said Dan.
‘I know,’ said Billy, who had a queue of sad bastard married men and did not need another one, though this, clearly, was what had washed up, one more time, at his door.
They went back to have lunch at the house, with the other housemates fresh off the ferry, and the friend-of-a-friend was just great; very upfront with them both about the bill. Dan did not say, ‘Oh, I don’t have to pay because I am not actually gay, you know.’ In fact, now they were agreed on the subject of his essential and future straightness, Dan chatted, drank wine and trailed after Billy to their room, where he spent a salty, sunny few hours on the bed with him, and in the shower, and in the chair, followed by a little, last eking out against the cedar-scented wall. He kissed Billy as though he loved him, all afternoon.
Dinner was a giddy occasion, with a couple of high performance housemates and their quiet host, who had carried steak and salad all the way from Chelsea. After which, they all washed and changed, downed a ritual martini in the living room and sailed off down the boardwalk. It was a big party weekend on Fire Island and temptation was everywhere but Billy and Dan danced only with each other; they laughed and even smooched a bit out there on the floor, and when Billy went off to queue for the toilet he came back with a couple of pills. He took one and let Dan lick out the other from the crease of his palm.
Bliss.
We can assume, of course, that Dan went back to his melancholy little apartment and his brave wife-to-be, and held all the beautiful men of Fire Island in great contempt for being helpless to their faggotry when his was so clearly under control. But tripping on Ecstasy under a July moon, he was the happiest queer in New York State. And of course we all knew he wasn’t really queer, he was just queer for Billy, because who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t like he wanted to go down on – I don’t know – Gore Vidal. Dan loved Billy because it was impossible not to love Billy, and so we sang that same old sad song, as they touched each other in the trees’ moon shadow; as they paused in the ineluctable presence of the other, and inhaled.
We met the brave little wife-to-be later, when she came back from Boston, where she had been doing some kind of MFA. She was nice. Skinny, as they often are. Slightly maverick and intense and above all ethical. She had long hair, a lovely accent, and she was writing a book, of course, about – we could never remember what the book was about – something very Irish. As beards went, she was a classic beard. A woman of rare quality – because it takes a quality woman to keep a guy like Dan straight – throwing her heart away.
Or not.
Who is to judge, meine Damen und Herrrren? At least she had a heart to throw.
This was Dan’s fifth year in New York City – he had only intended staying for one. He arrived in the summer of 1986, and moved in with Isabelle, who had been there since May. A friend got him some evening shifts in a bar over on Avenue A and he spent the days stacking and retrieving shoeboxes in a basement on Fifth. After a few months down in the dark, they allowed him up on to the shop floor and Dan pretended to be good at selling shoes in order to cover the fact that he was really very good at selling shoes. He was a beautiful
‘So he must have got that much sorted out.’
‘Huh,’ said Dan.
A little bit later, Dan said, ‘I am going to get married,’ and he sat up, alert to the sea.
‘Oh?’ said Billy.
‘I am.’ Dan kicked the end of the towel and pulled it square on the sand.
‘Anyone in mind?’
‘Yep.’
He studied the horizon. ‘I love her,’ he said. ‘And I love the look of her and the shape of her, and I love the way her body is, and I just think it feels right. All of that. You know?’
‘Great.’
‘We have sex,’ said Dan.
‘I know,’ said Billy, who had a queue of sad bastard married men and did not need another one, though this, clearly, was what had washed up, one more time, at his door.
They went back to have lunch at the house, with the other housemates fresh off the ferry, and the friend-of-a-friend was just great; very upfront with them both about the bill. Dan did not say, ‘Oh, I don’t have to pay because I am not actually gay, you know.’ In fact, now they were agreed on the subject of his essential and future straightness, Dan chatted, drank wine and trailed after Billy to their room, where he spent a salty, sunny few hours on the bed with him, and in the shower, and in the chair, followed by a little, last eking out against the cedar-scented wall. He kissed Billy as though he loved him, all afternoon.
Dinner was a giddy occasion, with a couple of high performance housemates and their quiet host, who had carried steak and salad all the way from Chelsea. After which, they all washed and changed, downed a ritual martini in the living room and sailed off down the boardwalk. It was a big party weekend on Fire Island and temptation was everywhere but Billy and Dan danced only with each other; they laughed and even smooched a bit out there on the floor, and when Billy went off to queue for the toilet he came back with a couple of pills. He took one and let Dan lick out the other from the crease of his palm.
Bliss.
We can assume, of course, that Dan went back to his melancholy little apartment and his brave wife-to-be, and held all the beautiful men of Fire Island in great contempt for being helpless to their faggotry when his was so clearly under control. But tripping on Ecstasy under a July moon, he was the happiest queer in New York State. And of course we all knew he wasn’t really queer, he was just queer for Billy, because who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t like he wanted to go down on – I don’t know – Gore Vidal. Dan loved Billy because it was impossible not to love Billy, and so we sang that same old sad song, as they touched each other in the trees’ moon shadow; as they paused in the ineluctable presence of the other, and inhaled.
We met the brave little wife-to-be later, when she came back from Boston, where she had been doing some kind of MFA. She was nice. Skinny, as they often are. Slightly maverick and intense and above all ethical. She had long hair, a lovely accent, and she was writing a book, of course, about – we could never remember what the book was about – something very Irish. As beards went, she was a classic beard. A woman of rare quality – because it takes a quality woman to keep a guy like Dan straight – throwing her heart away.
Or not.
Who is to judge, meine Damen und Herrrren? At least she had a heart to throw.
This was Dan’s fifth year in New York City – he had only intended staying for one. He arrived in the summer of 1986, and moved in with Isabelle, who had been there since May. A friend got him some evening shifts in a bar over on Avenue A and he spent the days stacking and retrieving shoeboxes in a basement on Fifth. After a few months down in the dark, they allowed him up on to the shop floor and Dan pretended to be good at selling shoes in order to cover the fact that he was really very good at selling shoes. He was a beautiful
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