“Nell?”
“Hmm? Oh,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. My mind just wandered for a moment.”
Charles Taylor cocked his head and smiled. He had good teeth. I wondered if they were his own or an expensive set of dentures.
“It’s my age, isn’t it?” he said. “Dr. Lakes didn’t tell you that I was seventy-nine?”
“Seventy-nine!” The words came out in a bit of a shriek. I was mortified. “I’m sorry,” I said hurriedly. “I thought you were maybe seventy. You . . . You look great. Really. And no, Dr. Lakes didn’t mention anything about your age.”
And I was going to wring her neck for it.
“But you agreed to go out with me based on what she did say?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I liked what I heard. Though I must admit that for a minute or two I did wonder about the ethics of the situation.”
Charles laughed. The skin on his neck jiggled only slightly. “Don’t worry,” he said, “Dr. Lakes hasn’t revealed any of your medical secrets. I’m sorry about this.”
I tried to laugh, too. I wondered if anything on me was jiggling.
“Don’t be,” I said. “It’s not your fault.”
“Oh, I know it’s not my fault. I just mean that I’m sorry things worked out the way they did. I like you, Nell Keats.”
“And I like you, Charles Taylor.” It was easy to say. I did like him.
“And you’d like me better if I were, say, fifty-nine.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Charles sat up straighter in his chair. He had good shoulders.
“No more apologies. Would you like to stay for dinner or should I take you home now?”
Why couldn’t this nice man be forty-nine? Even fifty-nine?
“Let’s stay for dinner,” I said. “The food here is wonderful.”
“And of course, the evening is my treat.”
“Charles,” I said with a sigh, “you’re killing me.”
I was home no more than ten minutes when the phone rang. It was Richard.
“I called earlier but you didn’t pick up,” he said.
“I was out.”
“Oh.”
Richard wouldn’t ask where I’d been. I wondered if he was afraid to know.
“Why are you calling?” I asked.
“Nell, I have something to propose. Now, please just listen to what I have to say. Let me finish before you say no.”
“Richard,” I snapped, “just get to the point.” Why, I wondered, does he pussyfoot around me? Oh. Right. Because since he told me he’s gay, I tend to yell and scream at him.
I pictured Richard taking a deep breath. “Bob,” he said, “has a very good friend, a guy he’s known since college. They were roommates and they’ve stayed in touch ever since. His name is Jeff and he’s a lawyer in a small firm downtown. Well, Bob was thinking . . .”
“Yes?” I said. Let Richard say it. I was not going to help him.
“Well, Bob thought that you and Jeff might hit it off. You know, at least enjoy a nice dinner together.”
My husband was setting me up with another man. What would Oprah say about this, I wondered. I really wanted to know.
“How do I know this guy Jeff’s not gay, too?” I demanded.
“Bob says Jeff has always been involved with women. He was even married once. He’s one hundred percent straight.”
I laughed meanly. “Yeah, well, that’s what I thought about you and I was seriously wrong.”
Richard was silent for a moment, no doubt recovering from my latest blow.
“Nell,” he said finally, “you’re missing out on a chance to meet a very nice guy.”
Really, could I be blamed for exploding?
“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m missing out on! You know nothing about what I’m going through, Richard, nothing.”
“Nellie—”
Nellie. Only Richard called me Nellie. It was his name for me, right from the start. Tears welled and spilled.
“Just leave me alone, Richard,” I said thickly. “Unless you need to talk to me about the kids, don’t call me. Do you understand?”
After a moment, Richard spoke again. He sounded weary. Well, I was beyond weary.
“I’m sorry, Nell. About everything, this call, all those years . . .”
I put my hand to my head. It suddenly felt very heavy.
“Good night, Nell.”
I hung up. And then I said, “Good-bye, Richard.”
Chapter 18
Laura
He says, ‘Jump,’ you say, ‘How high?’ He says, ‘I want sex now,’ you say, ‘The red or the black negligee?’ He says, ‘I’m going away for the weekend with my buddies,’ you say, ‘Have a good time, dear.’
—Luck Has Nothing to Do with It: How to Keep the Man You Married
“Look, Laura, I wasn’t entirely honest with you last night.” Whenever a man begins a sentence with the word “look,” you know you’ve been screwed. Whenever a man says he hasn’t been “entirely honest” with you, you know he’s told a massive lie.
I had met Marcus only the night before. I know I shouldn’t have slept with him right away, but he was so handsome, so incredibly gorgeous. Every other woman in the room was eyeing him hungrily, but he chose to talk to me. Me!
Right up front I told Marcus about Duncan and me. I told him I wanted to get married again and have a baby. It was an incredible coincidence. Marcus wanted children, too. Just like Duncan, his ex-wife hadn’t wanted a family and, though Marcus had begged her to reconsider, she’d held firm.
It seemed Marcus and I were made for each other.
So I took him home with me. We made love in the king-sized bed Duncan had been so eager to install.
And then, morning came.
“Oh,” I said.
Marcus made a goofy, sort of apologetic face. “I do have kids,” he said. “Three of them. They live with their mother in Lincoln.”
I looked at the crumpled sheets. I would throw them out. I would buy a new mattress pad. I would sell the bed.
“You lied to me,” I said. It was a stupid thing to say.
Marcus sighed and hung his head. How many times had he been through this little speech? “I know, and I’m sorry, but man, you looked so good in that dress and we were having such a good time . . . I wanted to tell you before we came back here but . . .”
I backed against the dresser for support. Also, a heavy lamp stood just to my right. If things got really ugly, I thought, I could use it as a weapon.
“But you just wanted to get laid,” I said. “You don’t care at all about me. What else did you lie about, huh? You’re HIV-positive? You’re still married? What else!”
Marcus slipped on his boxer shorts. Always protect the goods when dealing with an angry woman.
“Whoa, calm down, it’s not the end of the world.”
Strange. To me it felt just like the end of the world.
“I am . . .” I could hardly form the words. I tried again. “I am so angry. You . . . I want you to leave, right now.”
Marcus took a step forward. In an almost-whisper he said, “Come on, Laura, can’t we talk about this?”
It was dangerous, his coming any closer.
“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”
Marcus clapped his hands over his ears. “Jeez,” he said, totally annoyed, “you don’t have to be so shrill!”
“Yes I do!” I screamed. “Yes I do!”
He was dressed in less than a minute. He didn’t even ask to use the bathroom.
I slammed the door after his sorry butt. And then I opened it and slammed it again. And then I threw on sweatpants and a jacket, grabbed my wallet and ran, literally ran to the CVS store five blocks away, where I bought three home pregnancy kits. I mean, we’d used a condom but you never know. The pregnancy kits cost me over forty dollars. If I’d known Marcus’s address, I would have sent him the bill.
I t
ook the first test as soon as I got home.
Not pregnant.
I took the next test the next morning and the third on the day after that. Not pregnant both times. I felt such huge relief. I mean, I wanted a baby but not with some idiot who clearly had no intention of marrying me!
After that I vowed, I swore, that I would never again have sex with another man until there was an engagement ring on my finger and a serious family plan in place.
I vowed.
And I started to research obstetricians.
Chapter 19
Grace
Never disclose the full reality of your situation on the first date. Let him fall in love with you before you tell him you stood trial for the suspicious death of your second husband.
—Dating After Divorce: The Fine Art of Information Control
Alfonse disappeared from my life bright and early on a Monday morning. He kissed my cheek and with a jaunty wave walked out of the apartment and, no doubt, into the apartment of some other lonely woman nearing forty.
No explanations. He simply didn’t call or return my calls. After two days I understood. And in spite of my claim to knowing full well what I was doing by getting involved with Alfonse, my heart hurt. Not a lot, not like it had hurt so often with Simon, but it hurt.
As if sensing my vulnerability, Simon called that afternoon when I got home from work. I saw his number and I picked up anyway.
“You didn’t come to my birthday party,” he said. “And I didn’t get a card. Gracie, what’s wrong?”
“Hello to you, too. Nothing’s wrong,” I lied. “I just forgot. I’m very busy. The semester’s almost over and there’s a lot to wrap up. And I was just hired as the director of a summer program for city kids at—”
“Great,” he said, cutting me off. “Cool. Listen, I need you.”
I didn’t want it to happen. But a tingle of excitement, of anticipation, passed through me.
“This amazing thing has happened to me, Gracie, and I need your support, you know. The Auster Gallery gave me a solo show and I’m, like, freaked. I need you to help me out, like you always do, you know, I need you to be there.”
Like I always am.
In truth, the gallery was an important one; a solo show there could really launch Simon’s latent career. My helping him prepare for such a show would be a good thing, a generous, productive thing.
All alone in the living room I was overcome with embarrassment at my inability to resist Simon completely.
“I’ll think about it,” I said carefully.
“Excellent! I’ll call you back with details. My girlfriend just walked in.”
Without a good-bye, Simon ended the call.
Typical.
And then I was furious that Simon had assumed I would say yes to his cry for help. I’d said I’d think about it. I’d made no promises. But Simon had heard only what he wanted to hear.
I took a deep breath. I thought of all I wanted to change about myself. And I realized I’d made very little progress.
And then I felt defeated.
Face it, Grace, I thought. We both know the “I’ll think about it” means “yes.”
Like it always does.
Chapter 20
Grace
Face facts: No man wants the responsibility of a financially devastated woman, especially when he’s got an ex-wife and kids to support. If you’re in debt, get out or risk being alone for the rest of your sorry life.
—Financial Solvency and Love: Perfect Partners
“Someone start talking,” I said.
Because, I thought, I don’t want to hear only my grim thoughts.
The four of us had met at Café Retro. Dinner with my friends was pretty much my only social life since Alfonse had gone off.
It made me wonder. Had tending Simon all those years eaten up so much time that I’d lost what personal interests I’d once had? When, I thought, was the last time I’d gone to a movie or to the theater? When was the last time I’d gone to hear a concert?
“I’ll start,” Laura said, and she told us about the guy who lied about having children. We all agreed that Marcus was the lowest of the low, a bum, a jerk.
“You sure know how to pick them,” Nell said with a phony smile.
“It could have happened to anyone.”
“Not to me. I don’t make a habit of going home with a guy I’ve just met.”
“You don’t make a habit of going home with any guy,” Laura snapped. “Maybe if you had been more interested in sex, then Richard—”
“Don’t say it.” The look on Nell’s face stopped Laura cold.
“So . . . ” Jess said. “Anyone seen any good movies lately?”
I laughed. “Not me.”
“Me, either,” Laura said. “I’m too busy looking for Mr. Right. So anyway, I met another guy, just last night. I went out with a girl from work to Café America, and we talked for a while, and do you know what he told me? He told me his ex-wife and two children live in New York somewhere. And before I could ask how often he got to see his children, he told me that their living in New York was as good as his not having children at all because he didn’t have to see them that often.”
“Yikes.”
“Well,” Jess said, “there’s a guy with a healthy ego. ‘Hi, I’m a jerk, want to go home with me?’”
“Can you imagine?” Laura went on. “What’s wrong with men these days? Either they don’t want a family in the first place, like Duncan, or they go ahead and have a family they don’t really want!”
I felt sorry for Laura, I did, but my sympathy was tinged with an uncomfortable feeling of annoyance. Hadn’t we advised her against leaving Duncan; hadn’t we suggested she reconsider such a rash act?
But who was I to judge?
“That’s too bad,” I said lamely.
“What kind of woman would be attracted to a man who doesn’t want to see his own children?” Laura asked.
Jess shrugged. “A woman who doesn’t want to be saddled with another woman’s children. A woman who wants to be the center of a man’s attention at all times. A woman who doesn’t want any children of her own.”
Ah, yes, I thought. There’s someone for everyone.
“A man like that is toxic,” Nell said. “He’s all about his own gratification. If he can ignore his kids, he can ignore his wife or his girlfriend. If someone’s inconvenient, ignore her and move on.”
Laura suddenly looked defeated. “I don’t know. I’m not giving up or anything, but sometimes . . .”
“Look,” Nell said, “this is the last time I’m going to suggest this, I promise. Please consider talking to Duncan before the divorce is final. Maybe there’s some way for you to work things out.”
Laura stiffened. “You think I’m destroying my life.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s what you’re thinking,” Laura insisted. “Fine. Think what you want. But I’m not compromising on this issue. I’ll find another man, a good one, I’m sure of it, and I’ll have my baby.”
There was another awkward silence; our conversations seemed to be full of awkward silences since divorce had come tearing into our lives.
“On another, less volatile topic,” I said, “you might be interested to know that Alfonse is history. At least, I think he’s history. I don’t really know what he is because I haven’t heard from him in almost a week.”
“Have you called him?” Laura asked.
“Yes. No return calls. It’s pretty clear to me he’s moved on to some other pitiful single woman.”
“Don’t say that, Grace.” Jess squeezed my hand. “You’re not pitiful.”
Maybe. Maybe I wasn’t pitiful regarding Alfonse. But regarding Simon?
I decided to keep Simon’s most recent call to myself. I knew what everyone would say. And I wasn’t quite in the mood to hear it.
But Grace, you swore things would be different this time.
Where’s your self-respect
, Grace?
“So, Nell,” I asked, “what’s been going on in your life?”
Nell told us about Richard’s call and his attempt to fix her up with one of Bob’s friends.
“Do ex-husbands ever really go away?” I wondered aloud.
“I think it’s kind of sweet of Richard to try to set you up,” Laura said.
“I think it’s kind of sick.” Nell shuddered. “Who is he to hand me off to another man? It . . . It feels like prostitution somehow. I know he’s no longer my husband. Still . . . I didn’t want to be dating in the first place. If Richard hadn’t—If I hadn’t found that stupid note, everything would be fine—Oh, God, what am I saying?”
“Enough about Richard,” Jess said. “I want to hear about your date, the one your gynecologist set up.”
Nell told us. Jess and I laughed awkwardly. Laura seemed appalled.
“I can’t believe Dr. Lakes set you up with a guy almost forty years older and didn’t even tell you about it!” she cried. “Why would she think you were interested in diapering and spoonfeeding some old coot?”
“I don’t know what she was thinking,” Nell admitted. “The sad thing is that he was really nice. Very smart and fit—at least, he looked fit in his suit, but who can tell what clothes are hiding.”
“Getting old is not for wimps,” Jess said. “The body begins to deteriorate at an alarming rate. Things sprout. Things spread. Things sag. It’s horrifying.”
Nell laughed unhappily. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Once a woman turns forty, she begins to fade to invisibility. It doesn’t matter what she’s accomplishing in her career or her personal life or how physically beautiful she is, men simply stop seeing her. Unless they’re seventy-nine, and then I suppose a forty-two-year-old like me looks perfectly appetizing.”
“What I find more disturbing,” I said, “is how young women, women in their twenties, look at us with, I don’t know, with pity, like somehow we’ve failed by growing older. Like somehow they’ve won the game. But that doesn’t make any sense!”
Back In the Game Page 9
