Getting Rid of Mr. Grainger

by James Colton (Joseph Hansen)

as printed in the June 1965 issue of
ONE: The Homosexual Viewpoint

“Miss Rowe, This is a surprise.”

He met her in his hotel room, that was spacious and smart and hushed, save for a thread of muzak in the cool, conditioned air. He was elegant even in his shirt sleeves. Beautiful leather grips lay open on the bed. One was full of neatly packed clothing, the other partially full. He laid an expensive Scots wool sweater on the bedspread and carefully folded its sleeves.

“I confess,” he went on, “I was startled when the clerk told me it was you.

“I don’t blame you. I was terribly rude last week, Mr. Grainger. I want to apologize.”

“Well-timed,” he said. “Another hour and I’d not have been here. But there was really no need, Miss Rowe. I benefited by your words, however harsh.” He flashed her a smile. “Excuse me. Won’t you sit down? Cigarette? “

“Thank you.” They were Players, in a slim, ostrich-hide case. She took one and he lit it for her. “You know,” she said, “you mustn’t think of going. Not on account of me. That would be dreadful, I’d feel terrible. I was too hasty. You were right. I’m overprotective of my mother, foolishly suspicious. I’m afraid we old maids…” Ah, she was calculating now. “We old maids, we unlit lamps, are sometimes like that. Jealous of our charges, afraid to let them have other human contacts. Actually, you were very good for my mother. She looked better than she had in years, during the weeks you came to see her.”

“Did she?” He went on with his packing.

“Yes, she did. And I want to say that I wish you’d come back. I wish you’d just forget what I said.” She ground out the cigarette in the ashtray and rose to walk to where she could face him. “Come back, Mr. Grainger. She needs you. I was selfish and unfair…”

“I’m leaving for Europe, Miss Rowe,” he said. “I have not done well in Florida real estate. I’m afraid…” He gave a rueful grin. “…I’m completely broke, so far as America goes. But there is some money in a London bank, and a little more in a Swiss bank. And living is cheaper there.”

“Oh, but,” Olive said, “you mustn’t go. My mother can help you get started here. She has many contacts. And even if she couldn’t…” Olive reached out to him, begging now, utterly unsubtle “…she needs you, Mr. Grainger.”

“I’m afraid too many people would think as you think about me, Miss Rowe,” he said, “if I were to marry your mother. And that’s what it would come to. I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much happiness for her. Her friends would change. She would be miserable. I’m happy for her sake that you made me reconsider. Not how it was…” His smile was gently reproving. “Your facts were right, but your inferences were wrong. I love your mother and did not want her for her house or her income. I wanted her only because I loved her. But perhaps you don’t know about love? — That’s cruel. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not cruel,” Olive said. “It would be if I didn’t, but it so happens I do.”

“Good. Then I think you believe me now.”

He was wrong. She would never believe him. But that didn’t matter. Olive Rowe and Binnie Greenberg were what mattered now.

“I care too much for your mother to burden her with the ugliness that would follow if I were to marry her. I’m over sixty-five, you know, Miss Rowe. She wouldn’t have me except long enough to come to depend on me, and then I’d be dead. And she’d be without husband as well as without the friends said husband had lost her. No, you were right. You are wise beyond your years…”

He closed and strapped the suitcases and set them on the floor. It took him several minutes, but when he looked at her again, Olive had not changed her position nor her expression either. She wasn’t able to take her eyes off him.

“Ah, Miss Rowe,” he smiled uneasily, “do you know about the basilisk? I seem to have done the wrong thing again. Am I not, even now, at our final meeting, to escape displeasing you?”

“What? Oh, Mr. Grainger. I’m sorry.”

And she was sorry. Very.