He was a sexist, too. Big surprise. He was automatically polite to Christy because she was a woman. But he didn’t believe that her talent as an artist compared to mine as an architect, or that her career might eclipse mine one day. As far as he was concerned, women needed to be nurtured and protected. It was our duty as men, after all.
On the other hand, he was urbane, cultured, and unfailingly polite. He was also intelligent, well-educated, and open to new ideas in other areas, like the one where the local Jezebel expanded her nudist empire. He talked about “gays” as actual people instead of moral degenerates, and I suspected that he and the liquor store owner were good friends.
He didn’t seem concerned that prayer wasn’t allowed in schools. He didn’t believe that a woman’s right to an abortion might bring about the destruction of the American family. And he didn’t think that life-as-we-know-it would cease to exist if Jews and Muslims practiced a religion besides Christianity. As a matter of fact, he didn’t spout any of the usual Moral Majority nonsense.
In many ways, he was an enlightened man, a civic leader and pillar of the community. But he had ridiculously outdated ideas about race and gender. And I flat-out rejected his belief in the paternal duty of men. Correction: the paternal duty of white men.
He finally wound down around noon. Christy and I bid him a polite farewell and made our escape.
“Wow,” she said as we left the driveway and drove down the tree-shaded lane.
“No kidding.”
“Just… wow.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Neither do I,” she said.
“He’s an old-school racist—”
“—and a sexist.”
“But he’s polite—”
“—and intelligent,” she finished.
“Funny—”
“—and really sweet. But a racist.”
“And a sexist,” I repeated.
“Wow,” she said again. “Just… wow.”
We drove in silence for several minutes, and I turned toward town when we reached the main road. Then Christy shivered and tried to shake off the memory of Granville J. Blair, III.
“I need a drink,” she said.
“Amen to that.”
* * *
Unfortunately, we had to run other errands before we could have that drink. Trip wanted me to check on the new patio furniture, which had arrived at the lawn and garden store. The owner was happy to see us, and she scheduled the delivery for later that afternoon.
Then we ate lunch at the corner drugstore, where Christy charmed the woman behind the counter. She recommended the vegetable soup and couldn’t believe it when Christy ate two bowls and two biscuits. Then the woman tried to feed her an entire peach pie. Christy polished off three pieces before she finally said she was full.
“Never in my life…,” the woman said. “And you aren’t as big as a minute.”
“Mmm, I’m as big as a pie now,” Christy said. “Yum!”
“Well, you just come back any time you need more, y’hear?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
The woman shook her head in disbelief and went to pick up another customer’s order.
We stopped at the grocery store next, and Christy helped load the cart.
“I’m still trying to be more domestic,” she announced. Then she gave me a suggestive look.
“Do we need to have a little housewarming party when we get back?”
“Yes, please. I’m feeling peachy, and I need some cream.”
“Ha! Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
We stopped at the liquor store on the way out of town. The owner had our order ready, and we loaded it in the back of the Rabbit. On a whim, I asked if he knew Granville.
“G.B.? Yes, I know him. We grew up together. Why?”
I explained why I was working with him, in very general terms.
“Ah, you’re working for Mrs. MacLean,” the man said.
“Yes. You know her?”
“It’s a small town. Everyone does.”
“But… you don’t approve.”
“I didn’t say that,” he said immediately.
I had a sudden insight and guessed, “You just wish she’d keep a lower profile.”
He gave me a piercing look, which I returned calmly.
“No, of course not,” he said at last. “She can do as she likes.” Then he turned businesslike and smiled. “Anything else?”
I toyed with the idea of telling him that Christy and I were more open-minded than the local yokels, but his sex life was his business, not mine. Besides, how would I like it if someone told me, completely out of the blue, that they were open-minded and didn’t care that I was a swinger?
Instead, I gestured at the two cases we’d just loaded. “Is there a bottle of Jameson in there? The good stuff?”
“No. It wasn’t on the list.”
“Do you have any in stock?”
“Yes.” He sensed it was for Christy and glanced at her. “If you like the Jameson, I think I have something else you might like.” He gestured for us to follow him inside, where he took a bottle from a shelf behind the counter. “The Jameson is matured in first-fill bourbon casks, so you only get hints of the flavor. This is the real thing.”
The stuff had a ludicrous name, Old Rip Van Winkle bourbon, but Christy wanted to try it.
“Well, I guess we’ll take it,” I told the man.
“And the Jameson? So you can compare the two.” He was a good salesman, all right.
“Sure.”
“Put it on your bill? Or pay for it now?”
“How much is it?”
He told me, and I felt the color drain from my face.
“Please, Paul,” Christy said. “I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”
The man gave me a sympathetic but completely unapologetic look. Score one for the gay man who didn’t need my approval. I chuckled wryly, and he seemed to understand.
“I’ll pay for it now.” I took out my wallet for my credit card and said to Christy, “Trip’d kill me if he saw that on the bill.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Besides, she added with a look, bourbon and penis should go well together.
I snorted a laugh. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
* * *
We returned to the Retreat to find that we had visitors, Carter and Kim. They looked relieved when we pulled up and parked beside the clubhouse. I let my eyes linger on Kim, while Christy studied them both.
“Wow, she’s really pretty,” she said. “Not quite a ten, but her body’s nice. I wish my chest looked like hers,” she sighed.
“I like yours better,” I said. “And not just ’cause I can touch ’em.”
“Thank you.”
“What about him?”
“He’s handsome. They look good together.”
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”
“We weren’t sure we were in the right place,” Carter said as we climbed out of the car.
“Yeah, sorry,” I replied. “We had to run to town. Groceries and other errands.”
“Want us to help you unload?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Christy cleared her throat very softly.
“Sorry,” I said, “sometimes I forget my manners. Carter, Kim, this is my girlfriend, Christy.”
They exchanged greetings. Then Kim offered to help Christy with the groceries. Carter caught my eye and nodded appreciatively. At first I thought it was Trip’s score-keeping, but then I realized it was genuine approval. He was telling me that Christy and I made a nice couple.
“Let me help you with the wine,” he said aloud.
We carried the cases into the clubhouse, and his eyes widened when he saw our bar area.
“This is quite a collection,” he laughed. Then he frowned and glanced at Kim. “Doesn’t the camp have a no-alcohol policy?”