The War Council

by Ann Shepphird

  “Now look at that poor girl.” I pointed to the girl sitting alone.

  “So?”

  “She’s alone.”

  “So?”

  “So, let’s think of her as our typical War Council client.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “She’s been stood up. Poor girl. She’s pretty but lacking in confidence. I’m thinking she has a boyfriend, but now he’s acting kind of shitty. Maybe telling her he needs some space. Standing her up occasionally. Let’s say she’s graduating soon. Thinking about the future. Wants to get married maybe. He’s thinking about spreading his wings. She’s unhappy. She could hire the War Council.”

  “What about him?”

  “Who cares?”

  “Who cares?”

  “We’re only hired by one partner. Like I said, it’s a war. You don’t fight on both sides of a war.”

  “What if—I’m being hypothetical here—what if she’s a neurotic mess who’s obsessively jealous of her boyfriend, and he’s a great guy?”

  “So? He didn’t hire us.”

  “This is so cynical.”

  “Think of us as lawyers.”

  “More like mercenaries.”

  “Okay. But I really don’t think a neurotic obsessive would be rational enough to realize she requires help with her relationship. We’ll get the victims. The people who know they’re on the wrong end of the relationship power struggle.”

  “Why does it have to be a power struggle?”

  “Kathy, every relationship isn’t perfect, equal, 50-50, whatever. Most aren’t. We aim to help the people who are weakened by the hold their partner has over them.”

  “You are nuts.”

  “Are you in?”

  “I must be nuts.”

  “Think of it as an experiment. If it goes wrong, you can write a book on it and make millions.”

  “I’m hoping you are wrong.”

  “Great. Prove me wrong. All I ask is that you try to make it work.”

  “I suppose I could do that. Who else is going to be part of this?”

  “I am thinking Monique, Mike, Hallie, and Randy.”

  “And how do you intend to get them to agree to this?”

  “Logic. Works every time.”

  I found Monique coming out of her office. Monique tended to be easy to find. Office. Library. Home. If she wasn’t at one of those three places, she was probably en route. As usual, there were approximately ten male students following her. Incredible. Almost 40 and the toughest teacher on campus, and all the 20-something alpha male students idolized her. When she saw me, she shooed the students away, and we found a nearby bench where I began my pitch.

  I had decided to zero in on Monique’s academic background to gain her support. I read her more of the book titles I had gathered in my search: How to Make a Man Fall in Love with You. Men Who Can’t Love. Women Men Love, Women Men Leave. Secrets About Men Every Woman Should Know. The Good Girl Syndrome. The Secrets Men Keep. Why Men Are the Way They Are. Men Who Hate Women and the Women Who Love Them. What Men Don’t Tell Women… I knew they’d get her venom up. And they did.

  “Propagandistic products perpetuating the patriarchal paradigm.”

  Okay, so Monique was prone to alliteration.

  “Sickening, aren’t they? That’s what the War Council is out to destroy. Instead of turning to this sludge, they can turn to us—to you—to guide them in their endeavors and help them to assert their womanhood in the best possible way.”

  She pondered.

  “This War Council abstraction might provide some intriguing material for my next paper. It concerns the subversive means by which a capitalist society continues to demean women’s worth. I had been pondering the subject in terms of the workplace, but this love paradigm might prove piquant.”

  “So, are you in?”

  “Why not? The students this semester are proving to be rather doltish. I could use some stimulation.”

  Hallie and Randy were next. I arranged to meet them one night at a local pub. Good food and microbrews. I figured I would pit the two of them against each other. You know, divide and conquer. Not only were they great minds on their own, but they held the two most disparate viewpoints I had ever known. Hallie was the cynical strategist while Randy was a romantic idealist. I thought that if I could get them to argue against each other, they’d beg to sign up. Logic. Ego. Right?

  Wrong. Hallie began defending Randy’s point of view while Randy began defending Hallie’s. It was kind of cute, actually. I looked deeper for an explanation as there definitely was ego involved but not what I had bargained for. Then it occurred to me—it was the collective ego speaking. The bond that marriage creates. They’d been married for ten years, but no one had ever expected it to last. They were too different. Too disparate in their thinking. But the marriage had lasted, and they were pretty damn proud of that fact. That was the ego I was getting now, so I changed my attack.

  “Hallie. Randy.” I looked at each of them earnestly. “Not only are you both experts in your fields—sterling examples of critical thinking—but you serve as a model for working relationships.”

  They smiled at each other, and I knew I had them.

  Mike was my last conquest. Now that I had Kathy, Monique, Hallie, and Randy, I was feeling pretty confident. And let’s face it: Mike was a dude. Not that Randy wasn’t, but again, I was dealing with a collective unit in that case. Here I was dealing with raw male ego.

  I found Mike down by the rugby field where a lot of squatty guys in striped shirts and little shorts pummeled each other while running up and down the field. How appropriate. Mike was yelling at one of them.

  “GET THE FUCK OUT OF THAT CORNER! BUD, GO FOR THE BALL. GO FOR THE BALL!”

  “Hey, Mike.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “Maggie. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I just wanted a minute of your time.”

  “Minute’s all you got. Go.”

  “Well, I wanted to talk to you about that War Council idea from Kathy’s dinner party last Friday.”

  “War Council? Don’t remember it. Refresh my memory. Just a second . . . BASH THE BASTARD, CONRAD! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” Back to me. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “The idea about the paramilitary relationship counselors?”

  “Relationship counselors?” Mike made what I would describe as a goose-egg sound. “Men don’t worry about this shit. We go for what we want and, well…” Then he winked.

  I smiled. “Funny. Monique said you’d say that. Said you wouldn’t want to do it because you were afraid.”

  “Hard Ass said that? Hah! LATERAL! LATERAL, YOU WUSS. I’m not afraid of anything, least of all what Miss—excuse me, Professor DeVillier might think.”

  “That’s what I thought. Except… well, I was thinking that you might not want people—poor unsuspecting young people—indoctrinated. All those men turned ‘sensitive’…”

  “So what?”

  “Wouldn’t you love the chance to do a little indoctrinating of your own? The chance to show people the inner workings of the real man?”

  “Yeah. I’m just not all that into that communicating shit.”

  “That’s not what it’s about, Mike. You would be actively involved. Not just talking, but like I said, we’re going to use military principles to fight the war in the field where it should be fought, not in the therapist’s office. Mike, I gotta tell you—your services as a captain in our little army would be vital.”

  “Captain, eh?”

  Logic. Ego. Bingo.

  “Yessir. You could train men and women your way. The way you train these fine young men out here.”

  Just as I was saying that, one of the squatty bodies out on the field squished into another squatty body and blood came squirting out of his nose. Ewww.r />
  “PHIL! PHIL, GET A TOWEL TO SIMMONS. LEARN TO TAKE A HIT BETTER, SIMMONS!”

  The squatty body nodded and went right back into the game.

  “Wow, Mike, I’ve gotta say that the way you mold these young men is simply fabulous. Wouldn’t it be great if you could help some of those not gifted in rugby?”

  Mike screwed up his face real tight. I think that meant he was thinking.

  “Ah, what the fuck. These assholes haven’t scored all season. Someone might as well. Get it?”

  Mike slapped me hard on the back. I got it. I got it, and I have to admit the slap on the back killed. But I had him, and now the War Council was complete.

  I was walking on air the next week when I met Kathy at Café Strada.

  “Well, I got ‘em.”

  She looked morose. “Everyone?”

  “Every last one.”

  “Damn,” she said. “And don’t give me that look, Maggie. You know I don’t want this to work.”

  “I am going to prove to you just how great this idea is.”

  “I’ll see it when I believe it. And how are you going to find the time to teach your classes?”

  “Please, I’m still an adjunct, remember? All I’m teaching is the graduate seminar this semester.”

  Kathy started to say something but then glanced behind me and got a surprised look on her face. I knew that look. It wasn’t the look of real surprise. It was that fake set-up kind of happy surprise. And then I saw him. What’s-his-name from her dinner party. Oh, Kathy, what was this? Didn’t she see I wasn’t going to have time for dating? I mean, please, now that the War Council was ready to roll, it would be taking all of my time. Would she never give up?

  “Maggie, you remember Nick.”

  Nick.

  “Yeah, yeah. Hi, Nick.”

  Nick, right. And, okay, so he was kind of nice looking. He definitely had a nice smile. One of those smiles that kind of twinkles. I hate twinkling smiles. Except that his was okay. Not as stupid as most twinkling smiles. He also had blue eyes and unruly dark brown hair. It was a nice combination. Somewhat pedestrian, I suppose, but on him it worked. He was certainly no Bill. And, like I said, I was going to be way too busy with the War Council to ever get to know him.

  Chapter Five

  NICK

  Sweet mystery of love I have found her. There she sat. A vision. And such passion—it was like there was fire flying out of her eyes. Her dark hair waved as she shook her head vigorously. She wore a blue sweater. She’d had on a red sweater at the dinner party. I think I liked the blue better—it brought out the specks of gold in her green eyes—and it was a little more snug. Yes, I think the blue was definitely superior.

  Would I tell her? How would I tell her? Why would I tell her? And why were these thoughts spinning around in my brain? Oh, the dilemma that faced me. I didn’t remember feeling like this in years, if ever. Giddy. And nervous. Sweaty palms, the whole bit. Shit, this was ridiculous. Just walk up to them. Geez, you’re 37 years old. You’re beyond all of this, right?

  Just then Kathy looked up. She looked at me and nodded like, “Come on, you schmuck.” We had arranged the meeting. Well, I had requested it, and she told me she thought it was a good idea. I just had to see Maggie again. What was unusual was I didn’t quite know why or how. I mean, I know how to approach a woman, but not this woman. There was something about her— something unattainable, mysterious, unyielding, fascinating… Something that said—yes, I may be the one, but no, you may not have me. Something that made me say: Why not? Which, of course, triggered something that said: Don’t blow it. Which, naturally, triggered something that said: SHUT UP! Why are you obsessing? You never obsess about women.

  So why was I obsessed? I didn’t think it was the unattainable part. I’ve never been into conquests. I am into women. I love women, the way they’re built, both mentally and physically. I love getting to know women and discovering what is unique about each one. And Maggie fascinated me like no woman had in a very long time.

  I actually think it was this War Council stuff that really hooked me. I mean, that was really funny—a paramilitary group that counsels troubled relationships? That’s great stuff. What kind of mind would come up with that? A fascinating mind, that’s what. A mind that thinks about life and love.

  And the passion with which she pretended to believe in it all. It was brilliant. This was a mind that I wanted to get to know better. And, luckily, the package that went with that mind was pretty darn terrific.

  I started toward the table. Kathy actually looked grateful for my arrival. It made me wonder what they had been talking about. Maggie looked, well, not particularly pleased that I had interrupted them. I really wondered what they had been talking about.

  “Hi. Maggie, you remember Nick.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Nick. Hi.”

  Ah, that voice. Those words. God, she was just beautiful.

  “Have a seat. I’m going to run to the bathroom so you two chat for a while,” Kathy said, before bolting for the bathroom. Maggie shot her a look that could kill but then turned back to me, and the look wasn’t quite so lethal. I just wish it hadn’t been so patronizing.

  “So, you’re a friend of Brian’s.”

  “Yep. Known him for years.”

  “You a rat?” She laughed. I didn’t know what the heck she was talking about.

  “A rat?”

  “Yeah. I thought the only things Brian saw outside of Kathy and the kids were rats.”

  “Oh, well, then no, I’m not a rat.” I could see she was going to be tougher than I thought. “Brian and I play tennis together.”

  “Tennis?” The tone said “tennis, how bourgeois.” I was definitely the toad in this scenario.

  “Yeah, you play?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh.” Now that was scintillating. Come on, man, come up with something brilliant. “Too bad.”

  “You at Berkeley?”

  “Yes, I am.” Aha. A link. Something in common.

  “What are you teaching?”

  “I’m not teaching. I’m a student.”

  “A student?” Another disdainful look—this one to size up my age.

  “Yep, a student,” I said.

  “In what?”

  “French literature.”

  “Ah, the Edith Piaf songs.”

  “Yep.”

  Okay, so we had not developed a sparkling repartee. For some reason, my usual ready wit had buried itself in my book bag.

  “PhD?”

  “Nope. Another bachelor’s.”

  Again, the calculating of the age was obvious in her eyes.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not into the academic bullshit that comes with graduate work.”

  She arched an eyebrow. It was something.

  “Something of an impractical major,” she said. For someone my age, she meant. Don’t worry. I wasn’t insulted.

  “They’ve all been.” That’ll throw her.

  “All?” It did. Both eyebrows arched.

  Aha. A spark of interest. Kathy arrived. Damn. I could sense that Maggie was finally becoming intrigued.

  Maggie looked almost guilty for starting to enjoy herself but, making excuses, scurried off.

  What the hell were they talking about before I got there? I asked Kathy.

  “That stupid War Council,” she said.

  “The story she told at the dinner party?”

  “No, that’s the problem. It’s not a story. She really believes in it and wants to make it work.”

  I laughed. “Paramilitary relationship counselors?”

  “Yep. We’ll be the Mission: Impossible team of love.”

  “Who’s gonna be Tom Cruise?” Kathy shot me a look. “I’m sorry. So how, exactly, will it work?”

  “Who
knows? It’s an awful idea and illustrates everything that is wrong with a world where relationships are based on ‘The Bachelor.’ Can you believe she wants us to become involved in people’s relationships? Make them logical. Even worse, she wants us to only take one side and refuses to see that there are two sides to every relationship. I mean, come on! There is no right and wrong in love.”

  “Depends on her definition of wrong.”

  “Don’t start. I know you think this is a big joke, and it is—really. I just have to figure out how to make Maggie believe that.” Kathy sighed. “If she could just get over Bill.”

  Bill? Uh oh. Danger signs. Flashing warning bells. I was cool.

  “Who’s Bill?”

  Kathy looked over as if surprised she was speaking to me. As if suddenly realizing she was spilling her guts to a complete stranger. To be honest, we didn’t know each other very well. We had known of each other since Brian and I started playing on a USTA tennis team a few years earlier, but I had only gotten to know Kathy recently. Still, I was intrigued and wanted her to continue.

  “I’m sorry,” Kathy said. “This must be so boring.”

  “No, really, it isn’t. Go ahead.” I looked as earnest and well meaning as I could. Well, I was.

  Kathy considered me for a minute and decided to continue. It seemed like she needed to get it off her chest. She filled me in on the story of Maggie and this Bill fellow and how it had led to the War Council idea. I didn’t think Bill sounded like such a bad guy. Not a guy to mourn for two years but not a bad sort in general. It sounded like he knew what he wanted and went for it. I thought he was an idiot for giving up someone like Maggie but, then again, everybody thought I was an idiot for leaving Tina.

  It was ten years ago. I was 27, and up until that point in my life, I had done everything that was expected of me. I was the good kid, the kind of kid who didn’t rebel in high school. I was too busy working. My family was one of those middle-class suburbia types. My dad was a dentist, and mom was a housewife. We had a nice life but were by no means wealthy. And, from as long as I can remember, I worked. Summers, Christmas vacations, after school. My dad said it was good training for real life—Puritan work ethic and all that.