MIAMI, AND IT WAS CALLED THE ORANGE GROVE, AND THERE WAS A SINGER CALLED 'THE LADY IN RED,' AND SHE SANG ONLY THE OLD SINATRA SONGS.'
'But there is no play like that,' I said.
'JUST SUPPOSE'' Owen said. 'USE YOUR IMAGINATION. GOD CAN TELL YOU WHO YOUR FATHER IS, BUT YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE IT-YOU'VE GOT TO GIVE GOD A LITTLE HELP! JUST SUPPOSE THERE WAS SUCH A PLAY!'
'Okay,' I said. 'I'm supposing.'
'AND WE CALLED THE PLAY EITHER THE ORANGE GROVE OR THE LADY IN RED-DON'T YOU SUPPOSE THAT YOUR FATHER WOULD COME TO SEE THAT PLAY? AND DON'T YOU SUPPOSE WE COULD RECOGNIZE HIM THEN!' asked Owen Meany.
'I suppose so,' I said. The problem was, Owen and I didn't dare tell Dan about The Orange Grove and 'The Lady in Red'; we weren't sure that Dan didn't already know. I thought it would hurt Dan to know that he wasn't enough of a father to me-for wouldn't he interpret my curiosity regarding my biological father as an indication that he (Dan) was less than adequate in his adoptive role? And if Dan didn't know about The Orange Grove and 'The Lady in Red,' wouldn't that hurt him, too? It made my mother's past-before Dan-appear more romantic than / ever thought it had been. Why would Dan Needham want to dwell on my mother's romantic past? Owen suggested that there was a way to get The Gravesend Players to perform a play alxmt a female vocalist in a Miami supper club without involving Dan in our discovery.
' COULD WRITE THE PLAY,' said Owen Meany. 'I COULD SUBMIT IT TO DAN AS THE FIRST ORIGINAL PRODUCTION OF THE GRAVESEND PLAYERS. I COULD TELL IN ONE SECOND IF DAN ALREADY KNEW THE STORY.'
'But you don't know the story,' I pointed out to Owen. 'You don't have a story, you just have a setting-and a very sketchy cast of characters.'
'IT CAN'T BE VERY HARD TO MAKE UP A GOOD STORY,' said Owen Meany. 'CLEARLY, YOUR MOTHER HAD A TALENT FOR IT-AND SHE WASN'T EVEN A WRITER.'
'I suppose you're a writer,' I said; Owen shrugged.
'IT CAN'T BE VERY HARD,' Owen repeated. But I said I didn't want him to try it and take a chance of hurting Dan; if Dan already knew the story-even if he knew only the 'setting'-he would be hurt, I said.
'I DON'T THINK IT'S DAN YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT,' said Owen Meany.
'What do you mean, Owen?' I asked him; he shrugged- sometimes I think that Owen Meany invented shrugging.
'I THINK YOU'RE AFRAID TO FIND OUT WHO YOUR FATHER IS,' he said.
'Fuck you, Owen,' I said; he shrugged again.
'LOOK AT IT THIS WAY,' said Owen Meany. 'YOU'VE BEEN GIVEN A CLUE. NO EFFORT FROM YOU WAS REQUIRED. GOD HAS GIVEN YOU A CLUE. NOW YOU HAVE A CHOICE: EITHER YOU USE GOD'S GIFT OR YOU WASTE IT. I THINK A LITTLE EFFORT FROM YOU IS REQUIRED.'
'I think you care more about who my father is than / do,' I told him; he nodded. It was the day of New Year's Eve, December , , about two o'clock in the afternoon, and we were sitting in the grubby living room of Hester's apartment in Durham, New Hampshire; it was a living room we routinely shared with Hester's roommates-two university girls who were almost Hester's equal in slovenliness, but sadly no match for Hester in sex appeal. The girls were not there; they had gone to their parents' homes for Christmas vacation. Hester was not there, either; Owen and I would never have discussed
my mother's secret life in Hester's presence. Although it was only two o'clock in the afternoon, Hester had already consumed several rum and Cokes; she was sound asleep in her bedroom-as oblivious to Owen's and my discussion as my mother was.
'LET'S DRIVE TO THE GYM AND PRACTICE THE SHOT,' said Owen Meany.
'I don't feel like it,' I said.
'TOMORROW IS NEW YEAR'S DAY,' Owen reminded me. 'THE GYM WILL BE CLOSED TOMORROW.'
From Hester's bedroom-even though the door was closed-we could hear her breathing; Hester's breathing, when she'd been drinking, was something between a snore and a moan.
'Why does she drink so much?' I asked Owen.
'HESTER'S AHEAD OF HER TIME,' he said.
'What's that mean?' I asked him. 'Do we have a generation of drunks to look forward to?'
'WE HAVE A GENERATION OF PEOPLE WHO ARE ANGRY TO LOOK FORWARD TO,' Owen said. 'AND MAYBE TWO GENERATIONS OF PEOPLE WHO DON'T GIVE A SHIT,' he added.
