by Fannie Flagg
“Were you born feeling that way or did you have to work at it?”
“I don’t know, I never thought about it. It’s just how I feel. Everybody feels loyalty to something, don’t they? I’m loyal to my women friends; I’d fight anybody that hurt them.”
Sookie laughed. “Earle thinks that’s why there are so few divorces in town. He says the men are scared of what we all would do if one of them cheated.”
“Have you ever cheated or thought about cheating on Earle?”
“Oh, Dena, why are you asking me all these crazy questions? You’re not going to put me on TV in some exposé, are you?”
“Of course not. I’m not trying to be nosy, I really need to know. Have you ever thought about any man other than Earle? You can tell me.”
“Do you mean like Tony Curtis?”
“No, I mean someone you know or have met.”
“No, I really haven’t. Is that unsophisticated of me? Honestly, Dena, I know you think I’m corny and old-fashioned, but after all the fun and all the teas and the showers are over and you stand up there in church in front of all your family and friends and take that oath, it’s serious. At least it was to me. I would have been scared to death to swear to something I didn’t mean; you know what a chicken I am. I don’t know how Letty did it.”
“Did what?”
“Divorced her husband not more than six months after she married him. Said she loved the bridal showers and the honeymoon, it was marriage she didn’t like. Anyway, back to you. What makes you think that you, of all people, are not loyal? Honestly, Dena, you can come up with some of the kookiest ideas. Have you forgotten you are a Kappa? Of course you’re loyal, silly.”
After Dena hung up she didn’t feel any better. Sookie was wrong. Dena could barely remember any of the girls she went to school with, or at times even the names of the schools. Dena had always been a loner. She did not feel connected to anything. Or anybody. She felt as if everybody else had come into the world with a set of instructions about how to live and someone had forgotten to give them to her. She had no clue what she was supposed to feel, so she had spent her life faking at being a human being, with no idea how other people felt. What was it like to really love someone? To really fit in or belong somewhere? She was quick, and a good mimic, so she learned at an early age to give the impression of a normal, happy girl, but inside she had always been lonely.
As a child she had spent hours looking in windows at families, from trains, buses, seeing the people inside that looked so happy and content, longing to get inside but not knowing how to do it. She always thought things might change if she could just find the right apartment, the right house, but she never could. No matter where she lived it never felt like home. In fact, she didn’t even know what “home” felt like.
Did everybody feel alone out there in the world or were they all acting? Was she the only one? She had been flying blind all her life and now suddenly she had started to hit the wall. She sat drinking red wine, and thinking and wondering what was the matter with her. What had gone wrong?
The Phone Call
New York City
1976
Dena was now making more money than she knew what to do with. She actually had a savings account and one of the first things she did was to move to a new apartment in Gramercy Park, where she had always wanted to live. She had been out of town covering the Bicentennial in Washington and in Philadelphia, and had not had a chance to finish decorating. After living in her new apartment for six weeks, she still had not hung her pictures on the living room wall, and so she asked a studio set designer, Michael Zanella, to come over on Friday night to help her. He was now standing on her sofa in his socks trying to place a large mirror in the middle of the wall. Dena was eating a sandwich, guiding him, when the phone rang. She walked backward toward the phone and before answering told Michael, “A little more to the left … Hello,” she said, not taking her eyes off the wall.
“Dena? Uh … Miss Nordstrom?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Gerry O’Malley.”
“Who?”
“Gerry O’—Dr. O’Malley.”
After all these months? “Oh, yes, Doctor … how are you?”
Dena motioned for Michael to move the mirror just a hair to the right.
“Fine,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“Just fine, Doctor.” As she made an OK gesture to Michael, “What can I do for you?”
“Well, there is something I need to tell you. Actually, to ask you, really. But before I do, I think I owe it to you to be completely honest and up front with you. I think it’s only fair that you know exactly how I feel before you make a decision one way or another.”
“Uh-huh,” Dena said, only half listening. She walked over and touched the next picture and pointed to where she wanted it.
“You know, all my life I have heard that I would meet someone somewhere and no matter how well I knew them or how much or little time we had spent together, that person would just be it for me.”
Dena shook her head when Michael pointed to the wrong picture and nodded yes when he picked up the right one.
“And I have known for a long time that you are that person for me. And the truth is, I am, well, totally and completely mad about you. And have been from the first time you came into my office.”
“Oh?” Dena mouthed yes when Michael pointed to the next picture.
“I know this call must seem out of the blue but I have waited to give you some time. I wanted to call sooner … would you have dinner with me sometime?”
There was no answer on the other end.
“I’m sure you must think I’m insane and this is really bizarre of me to put you on the spot like this … or if you are seriously involved with someone else—”
“Dr. O’Malley,” Dena said, “can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Oh! Well, sure.”
“It’s just that I have someone here and—”
“Oh—oh, I’m sorry. Sure.”
“I’ll call you back.”
Dena hung up, not really believing what she had heard. It was so out of the blue, it was bizarre. Maybe she had heard wrong or he was crazy or drunk or kidding or something. She did not know what to think so she forgot about it for the moment and kept on with the picture-hanging while she still had Michael there.
Gerry, on the other hand, was shaken. He had just made the most important phone call of his life and he had forgotten to give her his home phone number. He was too embarrassed to call back and hoped she would look his number up in the phone book. But she did not call back.
On Sunday night, he arrived at Elizabeth Diggers’s apartment with a pint of ice cream.
“Hi, Gerry, come on in the kitchen. I was just finishing my supper.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, glad to have the company.”
She noticed the bag. “What did you bring me?”
“Ice cream.”
“Oh, boy, just in time for dessert. You know the best way to a woman’s heart. Thanks.”
Gerry put the ice cream in the freezer and sat down at the table.
“What’s up? You sounded pretty upset on the phone.”
“Elizabeth, I am afraid I did a pretty stupid thing, idiotic, really, and I think you should know about it.”
“What did you do?”
“I called Dena.”
“Oh, dear … and?”
“I made a complete and total fool out of myself.”
“Gerry, I’m sure you didn’t make a fool out of yourself.” She said it but prepared for the worst. It had been her professional experience that men in love, even the most intelligent, are capable of doing some pretty stupid things.
“Well, ass would be a better word. So I wanted to tell you myself before you heard about it. I really just called to hear her voice. But then, when she answered, I just sort of lost it.”
She looked up from her plate. “What
did you say?”
Gerry began to pace. “I said … I know this call might seem out of the blue … but ever since the first day I met you I have been absolutely mad about you … and that I had always heard that someday I would meet the one person in the world for me … and for me she was that person.…”
Diggers quietly put her fork down. “You said that?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh,” said Dr. Diggers. After a moment of silence she asked, “And what did she say?”
“She said, ‘Can I call you back … I’ve got someone here.’ ”
“Oh.”
“That was on Friday and she hasn’t called. So God knows what she thinks of me at this point and, of course, like a fool, I didn’t give her my home number. Anyhow, shall I drown myself now or wait a few more days?”
“I think you have a few more days left.” Dr. Diggers smiled, but thought to herself, Poor Gerry, he’s really done it now.
On a Whim
New York City
1976
At her next session Dena did not mention that she had had a phone call from Gerry, and although Dr. Diggers was eager to ask about it, she couldn’t. She was caught in a hard place, between her patient and her friend. She was extremely fond of Gerry; they had been friends for years. They had first met when he was a student and she was still teaching in graduate school. One day in class she mentioned that she wished she could take part in the civil rights marches that were going on. Two days later, Gerry walked in and announced, “Dr. Diggers, you want to go to the march, and you are going to the march. We leave tomorrow. You may not be able to march, but you can sure as hell roll!” He and two of his friends borrowed a van and drove her all the way to Mississippi. They made a strange pair, this handsome, blue-eyed, blond boy pushing a black woman in a wheelchair, but it was an experience that neither of them would ever forget. Later, when the woman’s movement demonstration in New York had been announced, she had called him. “Are you up for another march?” He was and they had a ball, especially Gerry, who got patted on the behind by several very liberated women that day.
Gerry would always be a special person in her eyes and she hated to see him hurt, but there was not a thing she could do.
A week after his call, Dena came in from having drinks with a boring PR man who was trying to charm her into interviewing his client, and she looked up Gerry’s number and dialed. She left a message with his exchange. “So—you call and tell me you’re crazy about me and then I don’t hear from you?”
When Gerry came in later that night he called in for his messages. He had forced himself to go out; he had waited for her to call for days and had given up. When he heard Dena’s message he stood still in shock. At least she was still speaking to him; that was something. But what in the world did that message mean? He was a psychiatrist and even he didn’t know. But he was again hoping for the best.
As for Dena, she had called the way she usually did when it came to something personal; she had called on a whim and it didn’t mean anything, one way or the other.
On another impulse, Dena decided to have a few people over to her new apartment for a cocktail party on Sunday. Although she did not say so, it was her birthday, a day she would have forgotten if, as always, Norma and Macky and Aunt Elner had not sent her birthday cards.
She had invited Ira Wallace and his wife. She liked Mrs. Wallace; she was a lovely lady and must have seen something good in Ira, God knows what. She also invited her agent, Sandy, and his wife, and a few others, including Gerry O’Malley.
When Sunday came around, Gerry was a nervous wreck. He had changed ties five times and wished he had not gotten his hair cut by that stylist who had parted his hair on the wrong side. But Dena made him feel welcome and acted as if he had never called and made a fool out of himself, and he was grateful. He managed to get through the party without doing anything worse than crossing his legs and kicking a glass of Chardonnay off the coffee table. That was a miracle, considering.
Dena, on the other hand, looked at him several times when he didn’t know it and decided he was not a bad-looking guy. She needed somebody she could take places when she needed a date. Someone nice, not in the business. Maybe she would give him a try.
The Verdict Comes In
New York City
1976
Dr. Diggers knew that Dena had been out with Gerry; however Dena had said nothing about it. But today, as Dr. Diggers went down the hall with her to the door, Dena said offhandedly, “Oh, by the way, did I tell you that Dr. O’Malley, who recommended you, called me?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t believe you mentioned it.”
Dena got her coat from the closet. “Anyhow, I went out with him a couple of times. But he doesn’t say much of anything. All he does is sit there and stare at me and drop things. He’s so nervous, he sort of makes me nervous.”
Oh, dear.
Dena put on her coat. “Do you know anything about him?”
“All I can tell you is he is extremely well thought of, personally and professionally.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s a great guy and all. He’s cute but I guess just not my type. You know, he’s … well, he’s sort of dull.”
“Dull? Gerry O’Malley?”
“At least he is to me. I guess we just don’t have anything in common. He doesn’t even watch television.”
“I see.”
“He’s nice but there’s no point in leading him on.”
“No, I guess not.”
After Dena left, Dr. Diggers wondered how long it would be before she would be hearing from Gerry. It was exactly three weeks and one day.
Dena had turned down date after date with Gerry and he was baffled. “I know you can’t get in the middle of this but she seemed to like me. We had dinner, went to a couple of shows, but all of a sudden she stopped seeing me and I don’t understand what happened. It seemed to be going great. I was a gentleman, I didn’t push myself on her, I wanted her to have some time to get to know me a little better. I don’t think I said anything out of line, I let her do most of the talking. I just don’t get it. I was feeling pretty good, actually; the last time I saw her she even gave me a little kiss good night at the door. She wouldn’t do that if she hated me, would she? Maybe she’s seeing another guy.”
Diggers listened to him go on and on for another twenty minutes. Finally, she had to put him out of his misery. There was no other way. “Gerry, she thinks you’re dull.”
Gerry was taken aback. “Dull?”
“Dull.”
“Oh, du—?”
“Dull.”
“The only reason I’m telling you this is because she mentioned it out of session so I’m not betraying patient-doctor privilege. But there it is.”
“That’s all she said?”
“Gerry, don’t forget: she doesn’t know you. You are the last person in the world I would call dull. Does she know anything about you at all?”
“No, not much. But what am I going to do, sit there and talk about myself? Give her a résumé? Oh, Christ, Liz, maybe I am dull.”
Elizabeth Diggers could have kicked herself for ever getting in the middle of this.
“Gerry, am I going to have to put you back in analysis? What happened to my Mr. Personality Party Boy? You’re one of the funniest, most interesting people I know. Tell her about yourself. Now, get with it, boy.”
Gerry hung up the phone, wracked his brain, but one word kept playing over and over in his head. Even the clock seemed to be ticking dull … dull … dull. He put his jacket on and his lucky red baseball cap. The first thing he was going to do was buy a television set.
How Do You Get to Carnegie Hall?
New York City
1976
Gerry did not give up, and Dena continued to break date after date. A few times she had said yes and cancelled at the last minute until he finally managed to pin her down for a definite commitment. He had invited her to a concert at Carnegie Hall, and said, rather
insistently, uncharacteristically, before he hung up: “Dena, promise me you won’t back out at the last minute. These tickets were almost impossible to come by. Please, give me your word.”
“Listen, Gerry, you better ask someone else. With my work I can’t promise.”
“Please try. These tickets cost an arm and a leg. OK?”
Dena looked through her appointment book. She hated to be pinned down. “When is it again?”
“Next Friday, the ninth.”
“Well, I have a cocktail party at five. What time does this concert start?”
“Eight.”
“All right, but I’ll have to meet you there.”
“Carnegie Hall. At eight. And Dena, if you can’t make it, call me and—”
“OK. OK, I will. I’m writing it down.”
On Friday the ninth, at about seven-forty, Dena looked at her watch and groaned. Late already. She knew she shouldn’t have made this date. He was probably there already waiting for her and she was all the way downtown. She said good-bye to her host and as she was going downstairs in the elevator she made a vow to herself, again, not to ever make plans so far in advance. It was raining. She could always just not show up and say she couldn’t find a cab. But when she got into the cab she changed her mind. She loved riding in New York in the rain, the way the colors of neon took on a fuzzy glow through the wet windows, the way the lights reflected on the wet streets. The city looked so soft and so magical, she enjoyed the ride.
But by the time they made it through the theater district and up to Fifty-seventh Street, it was ten after eight when she got out of the cab. The sidewalk in front of Carnegie Hall was deserted. Everybody had already gone in, except for a man in a stocking cap playing a violin and another man standing with a bouquet. She pulled the big brass handle of the glass door and walked into the lobby; the young man with the roses ran after her. “Miss Nordstrom?”
