she returns to the bar a half-asleep man in a checkered shirt wakes and says to Quinn, “I knew it was you, because of the song. But you were with a different one.” He points at me before laying his head back in his arms.
“Let’s sit in the garden,” Quinn says. “I want to smoke a cigarette.” She grabs a sack of peanuts from behind the bar.
Outside there’s plastic furniture in a gravel pit with a view of the parking lot and a generator shed. “I’m technically quit, an ex-smoker,” Quinn says as she lights a cigarette. “So, is your husband as much of a hard-ass as Charley?” She is exhaling not only smoke but also her own breath made visible in the cold. The pink rims of her eyes are inflamed and her mouth is lively with mischief. She pulls her red hair out of the neck of her sweatshirt so it falls across her shoulder.
“I don’t know what Charley is like, really,” I say. “She barely talks to me.”
Quinn splits a peanut in two and the nut skitters across the table. She picks bits of red skin off the table with her finger and eats it. “That’s just how it goes,” she says. “She rode my ass when I first started too. Sent me maple sugaring for my first assignment.”
“When did she stop picking on you?” I say.
“When you showed up!” Quinn says, and laughs a rumbly cigarette laugh, coughing, letting it build and roll over.
“Maybe I should recruit another employee,” I say.
“Oh yeah, just call up your friends at the Gazette . Tell them you’ve got a real great opportunity up here. Prime-time shit.”
I crack a peanut and eat it. “It’s like she’s already made up her mind about me,” I say. “Henry isn’t like Charley. Henry is solid.”
Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose twice, a liar’s tic, and stares at me. “ Solid?” she says, an octave too low.
“What’s wrong with solid?” I say. I eat another peanut.
“Solid sounds boring.” Quinn leans on her elbows. “I thought marriage was for when you found someone life re-magnetizing, or reason-for-living-producing, or good in bed.”
She waits for me to respond, but I’m not sure what life re-magnetizing might mean. My old editor definitely would have struck it. She would have put a red line through Quinn’s whole phrase. I grab a handful of peanuts and start lining them up on the table, rank and file. I say, “Solid is good. You’ll see. Eventually you just start caring about different things in a relationship.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth I realize this is something my parents once told me.
“ That is condescending as hell,” Quinn says. She pulls a peanut from my line and smashes it open. “How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And today is my birthday, so, so am I. Are you saying I’m going to experience revelation in my sleep? Is the archangel going to come down and give me the news that what I’m now looking for is a solid woman?”
“No, not like that,” I say. I can’t really believe we’re the same age. I also wonder if I should follow up on that last bit. In spite of her total lack of journalistic skill, I find myself liking Quinn. I like the way she’s testing me. So I do:
“Woman?” I say.
“Women,” Quinn says. Her whiskey hovers halfway to her mouth, which is set in a challenging line.
“But never solid ones?” I say.
Quinn grins. “Never. I make a point of it.”
I press my fingers to my mouth. Quinn drinks.
“I haven’t been here very long,” I say. “But it seems to me that Menamon is exactly the sort of place to look for unstable women.”
Quinn laughs and can’t keep from spitting her drink back in the cup. She wipes her mouth and smiles. “I know,” she says, and shakes her head.
Q UINN DROPS ME home late at night, a little worse for the wear. When we get to my house I say, “This is me.”
Quinn puts a hand to her forehead and looks at the bull’s-eye glass above our door. She looks at our symmetrical shrubberies. “You live
“Let’s sit in the garden,” Quinn says. “I want to smoke a cigarette.” She grabs a sack of peanuts from behind the bar.
Outside there’s plastic furniture in a gravel pit with a view of the parking lot and a generator shed. “I’m technically quit, an ex-smoker,” Quinn says as she lights a cigarette. “So, is your husband as much of a hard-ass as Charley?” She is exhaling not only smoke but also her own breath made visible in the cold. The pink rims of her eyes are inflamed and her mouth is lively with mischief. She pulls her red hair out of the neck of her sweatshirt so it falls across her shoulder.
“I don’t know what Charley is like, really,” I say. “She barely talks to me.”
Quinn splits a peanut in two and the nut skitters across the table. She picks bits of red skin off the table with her finger and eats it. “That’s just how it goes,” she says. “She rode my ass when I first started too. Sent me maple sugaring for my first assignment.”
“When did she stop picking on you?” I say.
“When you showed up!” Quinn says, and laughs a rumbly cigarette laugh, coughing, letting it build and roll over.
“Maybe I should recruit another employee,” I say.
“Oh yeah, just call up your friends at the Gazette . Tell them you’ve got a real great opportunity up here. Prime-time shit.”
I crack a peanut and eat it. “It’s like she’s already made up her mind about me,” I say. “Henry isn’t like Charley. Henry is solid.”
Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose twice, a liar’s tic, and stares at me. “ Solid?” she says, an octave too low.
“What’s wrong with solid?” I say. I eat another peanut.
“Solid sounds boring.” Quinn leans on her elbows. “I thought marriage was for when you found someone life re-magnetizing, or reason-for-living-producing, or good in bed.”
She waits for me to respond, but I’m not sure what life re-magnetizing might mean. My old editor definitely would have struck it. She would have put a red line through Quinn’s whole phrase. I grab a handful of peanuts and start lining them up on the table, rank and file. I say, “Solid is good. You’ll see. Eventually you just start caring about different things in a relationship.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth I realize this is something my parents once told me.
“ That is condescending as hell,” Quinn says. She pulls a peanut from my line and smashes it open. “How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And today is my birthday, so, so am I. Are you saying I’m going to experience revelation in my sleep? Is the archangel going to come down and give me the news that what I’m now looking for is a solid woman?”
“No, not like that,” I say. I can’t really believe we’re the same age. I also wonder if I should follow up on that last bit. In spite of her total lack of journalistic skill, I find myself liking Quinn. I like the way she’s testing me. So I do:
“Woman?” I say.
“Women,” Quinn says. Her whiskey hovers halfway to her mouth, which is set in a challenging line.
“But never solid ones?” I say.
Quinn grins. “Never. I make a point of it.”
I press my fingers to my mouth. Quinn drinks.
“I haven’t been here very long,” I say. “But it seems to me that Menamon is exactly the sort of place to look for unstable women.”
Quinn laughs and can’t keep from spitting her drink back in the cup. She wipes her mouth and smiles. “I know,” she says, and shakes her head.
Q UINN DROPS ME home late at night, a little worse for the wear. When we get to my house I say, “This is me.”
Quinn puts a hand to her forehead and looks at the bull’s-eye glass above our door. She looks at our symmetrical shrubberies. “You live
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