Kramer vs. Kramer

by Avery Corman

  “Yes, he is at school.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Joanna, could we get to it? I’m pretty busy.”

  “Well, I’m in New York and there are some things I’d like to talk to you about. I don’t think they should be said over the phone. Could we meet for a drink?”

  “What things?”

  “When can I see you?”

  He could spar with her on the phone, put her off, hang up, but just as his day was over the moment she called, he did not think he could delay knowing why she called.

  “Today is probably best for me.”

  “Good. There’s a new place—Slattery’s, on 44th Street—”

  “Right.”

  “See you there at six, okay?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s nice to talk to you again, Ted.”

  “It is? Why?”

  He shuffled papers at his desk, called Etta and asked her to stay on, looked at some trade papers and then left work at five. He stopped in a bar on the way and had a drink in preparation for his drink.

  SLATTERY’S WAS A NARROW bar with several tables in the back. He moved past the bar to the rear, and Joanna was waiting at a table. She did not have a tan, as in her last time through. She was wearing a sweater and skirt, and she could have been any of the working women who were in the room, except of course, she was the prettiest woman in the room.

  “Hello, Ted. You look well.”

  “You do, too.”

  They ordered vodka martinis from the waiter, and Ted sat back, permitting her to take the lead. She seemed nervous.

  “How is this new job, Ted?”

  “Fine.”

  “That’s good.”

  She was after something, he was sure.

  A couple took seats at a nearby table.

  “Look at us, Joanna. Just like any old couple out for a drink. Who would believe it?”

  “Well, I guess you want to know why I called you here.” She smiled, but he did not respond, his throat muscles pulling with tension. “Ted, I’ve been living in New York for the past two months.”

  “You have?”

  “I’ve got an apartment on East 33rd Street—”

  “That’s extraordinary. You’ve been living here?”

  She was awkward, fumbling with her drink. Was this an overture? Was she here to broach a reconciliation, he wondered. Last time that was certainly not her intent, but this was nearly a year later.

  “Things change. I’m working for the Grand Central Racquet Club. Sort of a girl Friday. And I get in some free court time.”

  “It seems to me you’ve put a lot of people through a lot of shit so you can get yourself some free court time.”

  “I suppose you think of it that way. How is Billy?”

  “He’s great … except … he fell …” He needed to tell her, nearly as a confessional. “And he cut his face. He has a scar, Joanna, from here to about here.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

  They were both silent, the closest they had been since the breakup to shared feelings.

  “You can’t tell from a distance, Ted.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen him.”

  “You have?”

  “A few times I sat in a parked car across from the school and watched you take him to school.”

  “Really?”

  “He looks like he’s a great kid.”

  “You sat in a car?”

  “Watching my son …”

  Her voice trailed off. The loneliness of the scene, Joanna in a car across the street, got through to Ted and he shook his head.

  “I couldn’t do anything more. I was thinking it out, trying to make my decision—”

  So she does want to reconcile! That’s why she’s trying to be so friendly.

  “Ted—I want Billy back. We can work out an arrangement so you can see him on the weekends, but I want custody.”

  “You want him back?”

  “I’ve established residence here in New York. I’ll live here in New York with him. It wouldn’t be right to separate you two.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I want my son. I’m not sitting in cars looking at him from across the street any more.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I am not.”

  “The time I’ve put in! What I’ve lived through! And now you want him back?” He was raising his voice.

  “We can discuss this pleasantly!”

  People had begun to look at them as the almost-like-any-other couple in the bar moved into their own special category.

  “And I’m finally getting organized, finally—and now you want to take him away from me?”

  “I’m not shutting you out. You’ll still see him. On weekends. You’ll see him, Ted. You’re his father—”

  “And what are you?”

  “I’m his mother. I’m still his mother. I never gave that up. You can’t.”

  “Joanna, go fuck yourself!”

  “Ted, I’m trying to be direct with you. There are other ways I could have gone about this.”

  “I mean it. That may not be the most articulate thing in the world to say, but there it is. Go fuck yourself!”

  “Ted, there are courts of law. I have legal recourse—”

  “I don’t want to discuss it. What I want to discuss is who is paying for this drink?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Who pays the bill for this? Do I? Do I get stuck again? Do you invite me to have a drink with you—to listen to what you want—and am I supposed to pay?”

  “Who pays for the drink is meaningless. I’ll pay.”

  “Yes. That’s right. You’ll pay. Waiter!”

  The waiter was standing nearby, having come close to listen to the juicy scene at table three.

  “I want another. On the double!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re paying. I’m drinking.”

  “Ted, you’re just being angry—”

  “What else do I get? Can I have a sandwich from the counter? Are you buying that, too, or just the drinks?”

  “You can have anything you want.”

  “You’re a big spender.”

  “Ted, I’m going through with this. I’ve had time to think. I’ve been through some changes. I’ve learned some things about myself.”

  “What did you learn? I’m really interested to know.”

  “Nothing that specific.”

  “One thing. Tell me one thing, that I’ve paid for—that you’ve learned.”

  “That I never should have married you.”

  She said it softly, without any particular cruelty in her voice, as a statement of fact as much for herself as for him. He was so devastated by the finality of her feelings, his anger was momentarily defused. The waiter appeared with the drink and put it in front of Ted, who just sat looking at it.

  “Put it on the lady’s bill,” he said. “She’s paying,” and he got up and walked out of the bar, leaving her there.

  HE SNAPPED AT BILLY for a variety of minor transgressions that evening and sent him off to bed, not having the patience to read him a story or fill his time-killing requests for more apple juice.

  “You’re in a bad mood.”

  “I had a bad day. I would like this day to end as quickly as possible. You’ll help by going to bed now.”

  She wants him back! He wished he had the moment in the bar again, to take that drink and throw it in her face.

  The phone rang and it was Vivian, calling about tickets for the ballet, which she was going to try to get, and for an instant he did not know who she was or what she was saying. She didn’t get the tickets, should they go to a movie? A movie, the ballet, what was the difference? He did not care what he was going to be doing Friday night at eight o’clock.

  “Fine, a movie is fine. Wonderful.”

  “Are you all right?”

 
“I’m not feeling terrific.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’ll talk to you later in the week.”

  “What is it, Ted?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really—”

  “My ex-wife just showed up in New York and wants custody of my son.”

  “Oh—”

  Vivian probably would have been satisfied with—“I’ve got the flu,” or “I’ve got someone with me”—even that—but this was very likely more than she had counted on.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know anything right now.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes, you can kill her for me.”

  HE WENT TO THE liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of cognac and a brandy snifter. He balanced the glass in his hand and then suddenly he threw it full strength, smashing it against the living room wall, glass splattering all over the room. He had never done anything like that before. For a second or two it felt good. But not wonderful. He swept up the pieces before he went to bed, which gave him something to do.

  JOANNA PHONED HIM IN the office the next morning and he did not take the call. She phoned again later in the day and he did not take the call then either. She left word for him with the secretary: “Tell Mr. Kramer nothing has been resolved.” Joanna had said there are courts of law and that she had legal recourse. Ignoring her phone calls, he realized, was not a very strong legal position.

  He went to see the lawyer, John Shaunessy. The lawyer wrote down what he considered the crucial facts, verified some dates—how long she had been out of the house, when she was last in New York.

  “She’s got a lot of lateral movement,” he said, always the football man. Then he wanted to know exactly what Joanna had told Ted and he jotted her remarks on his pad.

  “Okay, Ted, what do you want to do?”

  “What are the legal ramifications?”

  “You sound like a lawyer. The law is not the issue. What counts is what you want to do. Do you want to keep the kid and live the way you’ve been living? Do you want to give up the kid and change the way you’ve been living?”

  “I hear a little judging in your voice.”

  “Not at all. Ted, you win by winning. But you’ve got to know if you want to be in the ball game.”

  “I want my son. I don’t want her to have him.”

  “That’s an answer.”

  “She’s not entitled to him.”

  “Ted, that’s not an answer. She’s right, you know? There are courts of law, and up to now she’s been acting very responsibly.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Tactically—in her game plan. My guess is she’s got somebody advising her. She hasn’t made any rash moves, she hasn’t gone around you. She set herself up, established residence, and in your home state. She said she doesn’t want to shut you out. It’s all very calculated.”

  “What do I do if she calls again?”

  “Tell her you need a little time. She probably doesn’t want to go into court unless she has to.”

  “Well, I’m not giving in—”

  “Ted, take the time. There’s something I do which is very helpful in complex matters. I draw up the pros and cons on an issue. I actually write them out and I look at them. You should do the same.”

  “I know what I want.”

  “Do me a favor. Make a list of the pros and cons. And after that, if you’re really sure you want to retain custody—then I’ll know it’s what you want, and so will you, and we’ll go in there and whip their asses.”

  Although he had confidence in Shaunessy, Ted wanted to be certain about him. Jim O’Connor had told Ted that he had a cousin on the bench, and Ted asked O’Connor to make inquiries and find out what he could about Shaunessy’s reputation. The calls from Joanna were still unanswered. He reached her and said he needed time to weigh “her request,” choosing his words carefully, not knowing if she were noting everything he said and taking it back to her lawyer. Joanna asked if she might see Billy.

  “No, Joanna. It would create too many problems at this time. I don’t want you to.”

  “Fabulous. Am I supposed to go to court to get permission to buy my son a hot dog?”

  “Listen, honeylamb, I didn’t get you into this situation—you did. By the way, how come you’re still using the name Kramer?”

  “I just like the way it sounds. So I kept it.”

  “You sure are a natural spirit.”

  He hung up on this note of acrimony. So much for the reconciliation he had created unilaterally. O’Connor uncovered that of the lawyers who specialized in family law, John Shaunessy was very highly regarded. Ted set aside the question of lawyers and attempted to direct his attention to the other aspects of his life—do his job, be a father, a lover, none of which he accomplished with much effectiveness. He kept his appointment with Vivian, declining to discuss the question of Billy, although she offered to have him unburden himself. “Not tonight,” he said. “I’ve been thinking too much about it as is.” They went to the movies, a comedy, which he watched with the same mirth one might bring to an Ingmar Bergman movie. Afterward, at her apartment he made love to her with all the passion of a wind-up toy.

  The next night, at home in the middle of the night, he awakened with a start, sweating. He got up and walked into Billy’s room. The boy was sleeping soundly and for the first time in Billy’s life, Ted woke him from a dead sleep.

  “Billy, Billy,” he said, shaking him. The child looked up with drowsy eyes. “I love you, Billy.”

  “Oh, I love you, too, Daddy. Good night.” And the boy turned and went back to a sleep he had never really left, and from which he would not remember this in the morning.

  “Good night, Billy.”

  CHARLIE HAD BEEN ASKING Ted to meet his new “galfriend,” he called her. He was having a Sunday afternoon cocktail party and he wanted Ted to come. He was not really in the mood for Charlie’s usual—bologna on Ritz crackers, but then he was not in the mood for much of anything. Billy had been asked to a friend’s house for the afternoon and Ted could go to the party with the knowledge there would be so many of Charlie’s dentist friends on the premises that he would get expert advice if he got any bologna caught between his teeth.

  Charlie greeted him in his bachelor killer clothes, a leisure suit with a scarf around his neck. He walked Ted past the dentists, who were attempting to dance slow fox trots with the young women in the room, a mating ritual that seemed out of place at three in the afternoon on a Sunday in an overheated apartment. At the bar, which Charlie had set up with white wine and a new liverwurst and Ritz crackers combo, Charlie introduced him to a tall, sultry woman.

  “This is my gal. Sondra Bentley—Ted Kramer.”

  “Charlie has told me about you, Ted. How you’re good playground chums.”

  “That’s us. Kings of the swings.”

  He was suppressing a smile—that old Charlie managed to find such a striking woman, knowing it was patronizing of him. Charlie excused himself to answer the doorbell, and as if she were reading his mind, Sondra accounted for herself.

  “He’s not a very sophisticated guy—Charlie. But he’s very sincere.”

  “Yes, he is that. He’s a good man.”

  The women looked very young, the dentists were swarming, he did not wish to learn any more of the Sondra-Charlie relationship—that Charlie might be doing expensive dental work, free—which was his cynical suspicion. He excused himself and went into the bathroom, and lacking anything to do, he washed his face. He came out, leaned against a wall watching couples dancing to “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning” in the middle of the day. A sexy woman in a satin blouse and dungarees, in her thirties, which made her among the oldest women in the room, stood next to Ted.

  “Which side of the family are you on?” she said.

  Rat-a-tat-tat. Party talk. If he came up with a good rejoinder, they were in business for the next series of
one-liners.

  “I’m the groom’s father.” Feeble, but she laughed anyway.

  “Are you a dentist, too?” she asked.

  “No, I’m a patient.” And she laughed again.

  Across the room, Sondra slipped her arm inside Charlie’s and was whispering intimacies in his ear. Perhaps she was genuine. In any case, Charlie was free to explore the Sondras of the city, with or without free dental work, free to throw this party. Ted had never made a Sunday cocktail party, not that he would have thought it desirable, but if he ever wanted to, he would have to plan it around his son. He had about an hour to himself before he would have to call for him. Ted started working on a double depression. He was depressed about being at this party and depressed that he had to leave.

  “I said, what kind of patient—was that dental or mental?”

  “Dental or mental? Good. I actually sell advertising space. Look, I only have an hour. I don’t think we could accomplish much in an hour.”

  “What happens then? Are you a junkie? Do you have to walk your dog?”

  “You’re a pretty lady, but I have to go. If the way I feel was a flood, I’d probably qualify for federal funds.”

  She laughed again and he felt as if he were on a treadmill.

  “I got a million of ’em,” he said weakly.

  He offered his goodbyes to Charlie and Sondra and went to reclaim Billy. He did not believe he was any more tied to his child than any other single parent, not any more so than Thelma. But more so than any man he knew, since all the divorced men he had ever met simply left the children to the mothers. When he took Billy home, the boy had an emotional collapse from fatigue and an oncoming cold, refusing to eat anything but pound cake for dinner: “It’s good for you. It’s made with eggs. I saw it on television.” Then he started to cry because he missed a segment of Batman three days before, finally going to sleep after gagging on his cold medicine and spitting it all over his pajamas, unaware that on advice of counsel he might be under scrutiny. Ted could not imagine resolving the question of whether or not to fight for custody of your child by drawing up a list of pros and cons, but his lawyer seemed to believe it would clarify their position, so he took a pad and pen to see where a list could possibly lead him.

  Loss of Freedom was the first reason he could think of for not keeping Billy. Thousands of divorced men were tooting around, the Charlies, mildly conscientious about their few prescribed weekend hours with the children, men who could go home whenever they were off duty to whatever beds they chose to sleep in.