The Fancy Dancer

suspected it again.
    “Father, how can you say that? I’m the most unsexy thing around,” I said hollowly, thinking of Vidal’s dissatisfactions.
    “No one is unsexy,” said Father Matt in his best Jesuit tone of voice. “Have you considered that you are in grave contradiction of the Church’s teachings on sexuality? That you have violated your promise of celibacy in an unspeakable way?”
    My feeling of panic turned to anger.
    “Father, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said coldly. “The fact is, I don’t think you’re the right spiritual director for me anymore. I’ve been coming to you for nearly six years, maybe it’s time for a change.”
    “You really insist on deceiving yourself, don’t you?” “No. I’m finally working my way out of the self-deceptions. But I won’t be over to see you any longer.” “You’re lost, Tom.”
    “No, Father. I’m finally finding myself, and my real relationship with God. I have another spiritual director now.” “May God have pity on you,” he said.
    We both hung up.
    B B B
    The next time I was up the valley on a sick call, I took the opportunity to tear over to Drummond and visit Larry and Will.
    It felt a little strange to go there alone, without Vidal. But the thought of those two happy men had haunted me ever since I’d met them, and I wanted to know how they were getting along.
    When I got to the ranch, Will wasn’t there. He had gone to Missoula to buy a load of feed. But Larry was there, and seemed very glad to see me.
    We sat on the terrace with a beer, and Larry talked compulsively.
    They were concerned with the shakiness of the cattle market. It was the eternal decision: sell now, or hold the cattle till spring and hope that the market would go up fifteen or twenty cents a pound. On the other hand the roan stud was all ready for the big endurance race.
    “Do you think he has a good chance to win?” I asked.
    “We sure hope so,” said Larry. “A win by a Spanish mustang is good publicity for the breed. But there’s going to be some stiff competition. There’s an Arabian coming up from Wyoming that’s one of the toughest horses around.” Larry sat scratching the ears of Lady, the little blue dog. “Vidal tells us he’s going back to school.”
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “Pretty lonely for you,” said Larry.
    I shrugged. “It’s the best thing for him.”
    “You feel pretty hurt, don’t you?” said Larry. ‘You even feel a little bit used.”
    “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think he was just looking for a local trick.”
    Larry shook his head.
    “You haven’t got any idea of the effect you had on him. When he first met you, he used to drive down here and talk to us for hours. And in a way it’s the things he likes in you that are driving him away. He can’t live with them or compete with them as long as he doesn’t make something out of himself.”
    I nodded dumbly.
    “And if he stays where he is,” said Larry, “then what is he? An ex-con, a garage mechanic, a leather man, a bike queen? A fancy dancer? With all those brains boiling around in his head?”
    I was silent.
    “Be smart, Tom,” said Larry, finishing his beer. “Let him go with your blessing. He’s stayed longer with you than he ever did with anybody else. A lot longer than he did with me.”
    “You?”
    “Sure. I knew Vidal way back, when we were both at Montana U., before he went to jail and I dropped out of school to rodeo. We had it together for a little while, but . . . We were both pretty fiddle-footed then. And then I met Will.”
    “Will knows?”
    “Sure. He also knows we’re just good friends now, so it doesn’t trouble him at all.”
    I laughed. “Broadminded of both of you. I’m afraid I’d be the jealous type. Or I’d eat my heart out, anyway.” “I suppose you’ve thought about quitting the priesthood.”
    “A million times. I’d like to live with somebody, have a life like you guys do, but I could never do that the way I am now, without a lot of sneaking around.”
    I stood up. “Speaking of sneaking around, Father Vance will put out an APB on me if I don’t get back.” We walked across the lawn to my car.
    “You gonna be at the finish line next Sunday when we come across?”
    “Dam right,” I said. “Father Vance has stuck me with being the chaplain at the fair. Any jockey or bronc rider that gets his neck broke, I’ll be right there to kick his ass on up to St. Peter.”
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