15. A MAN MY AGE
TYPE:
Married, more than forty-five, discontented and not very attractive at first glance.
SUBJECT:
Warm-hearted but somewhat slow and heavy in her thought-processes. Has many women friends. Various men sometimes wonder why they didn’t marry her when it was possible. A good sport, but very respectable.
APPARATUS:
1 Chesterfield divan, very comfortable but dusty
1 Fireplace
1 Stack of Wood
1 Fire, roaring
REMARKS:
The married man has an advantage. He has had training; he is actually as one might say trained, or tamed. He is forbidden by law and thus he acquires glamour and romance.
A MAN MY AGE
“I love this,” she says.
“So do I,” you answer. “I’m sorry the place is so messy. I didn’t notice until you walked in. That nigger never cleans up unless Emma keeps after her. I don’t know what’ll happen now.”
“Well, when Emma gets back it’ll be all right,” she says.
Glance at her in some surprise. “But I thought you knew about that,” you protest. “Emma isn’t coming back, you know.”
“No? Oh....” She is fearfully embarrassed. She feels a little angry. “Of course I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me. How should I know?”
“But of course I thought—— Why do you suppose she didn’t tell you? I thought you were the first one she told. I’m so sorry. I’d better——”
“You’d better tell me about it,” says Barbara. “She didn’t really have a chance, the last time I saw her. My sister had lunch with us and went down to the station too.”
“Sure, that explains it. Why, it was this way. We went up to the cottage in June, and she went to Bedford after that. We came to an agreement after we left the city; I don’t know just when. It took a long time. We changed our minds a lot.”
“I should think so,” she murmurs.
“Well,” you go on, “it’s been three months anyway, off and on. I guess we’ve just been really separated for a couple of weeks. It seems longer because of that adjustment period. She can do what she likes about the divorce; I’ve left it up to her. I told her to do what she thought best. Emma knows how to go about business and all that. Of course I’ll agree to anything.”
“You mean you’ve definitely decided——” Her voice is incredulous.
“Nothing’s definite. But if you mean is it all over, yes. We agree on that, absolutely. Are you really so surprised?”
She thinks about it for a minute. “No,” she decides, “not really. I noticed something. That night you had the party before we all went to the beach, I knew there was something wrong. But I had no idea.... Do you mind talking about it? Some people might.”
Shake your head and laugh. “Certainly not. It hasn’t been particularly painful, you see. You’re one of the family anyway. Why should I mind?”
“I’m glad you feel that way about it,” she says. “Of course I’m frightfully interested.”
“Then it wouldn’t bore you?”
“No,” she says. She maintains a reserved attitude; politely interested. Sit back against the cushions and draw a deep breath.
“I want to be fair to Emma. I guess the fault was on both sides. I can’t help remembering that after all, it was my idea that we get married. I remember it perfectly well: I had to argue with her. You mustn’t think that I’m trying to whine about it.” Smile at her rather sadly and whimsically.
“Ben, you know I don’t,” she cries.
“I don’t know. Naturally I feel a little defensive. After all, I suppose you’re on her side. I met you through her.”
“Don’t be silly. I just want to hear the truth. You’re both my friends.”
“That’s what I wanted you to say, Barbara.” The fire crackles comfortably. “Well, anyway, there it is. I don’t know just how it happened. My fault, I suppose, but I refuse to feel guilty. I’m awful. I keep wondering why in hell I wanted to get married. I remember in a very vague and impersonal sort of way that she was pretty.”
“Oh yes,” she says eagerly. “Wasn’t she pretty?”
“I don’t know when all the trouble did start. I can’t even figure it out. I don’t know that I want to.” Kick the flaming log.
“I think I can understand,” she says slowly. “Of course I’m trying to be impartial, and Emma’s one of my best friends, but I think that I do understand.”
“Yes, you would understand,” you answer. “There’s one thing, though, that I’d like to tell you. I mean this: I do feel badly about it. I may not act that way, but I do. It’s been awfully hard on her. Don’t think I haven’t worried.”
“You know, Ben, there’s something I want to say.” She sits up and folds her hands.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, I haven’t any right to say it, but I’m going to. I think that your trouble is, you worry too much.”
“Me? Worry? Barbara, you’re a nut!”
“I mean it. You think too much for her and everybody else. You pretend to be absolutely careless about everyone else, but you aren’t. You can’t get along like that; it isn’t nature. It doesn’t work out.”
“Maybe.” Frown at the fire. “Maybe. But what about her? She can’t face things alone, you know. I’m sorry if I’m talking too much, but this is serious. Now we’re started on a long subject. She simply can’t do it. She isn’t fitted for it. You must know that. You’re an old friend of hers.”
“Ben, how long have you been worrying like this about other people?”
“You’re asking me how old I am!” you cry in dismay. “It isn’t polite of you. I’m much too old for you to be wasting your time on my domestic troubles. You’ll have to be satisfied with that. I won’t tell you.”
“I know how old you are. Emma told me when you were married. What’s the matter with you? You’re not old.”
Get up and fix the fire to hide your pleasure.
“You’re a sweet girl, Barbara. You’ve always been the only one of Emma’s friends I had any use for. You’re the only mutual friend we’ve ever had, I may say.”
“Thanks, Ben. Anyway I’m flattered that you’ve told me so much.”
“I wonder why I did. There’s something about you that makes people talk. What is it?”
“Is there?”
“I think it must be that you’re so honest, yourself. How do you happen to be so honest?”
“Why not? Most people are.”
“No they aren’t. Most women aren’t. Emma wasn’t. You knew that, didn’t you?”
She considers it. “Oh, Emma didn’t lie.”
“Not directly. But Emma was essentially feminine; essentially evasive. You aren’t.”
“No,” she admits, serenely.
The silence is becoming dangerous.
“Heavens!” she cries, suddenly. “I had no idea it was so late. I’ll have to go.”
“Wait until this log burns down,” you suggest. “You surely aren’t in such a hurry as all that. I’m afraid to be left alone. You’ve no idea how lonely an old man can get in a few minutes.”
She laughs. “Well, I’ll wait for a little. I hate to leave the fire. I’m getting old, too.”
“Besides, you’re a very busy person and I haven’t really seen you all year. I think I’ve just realized how nice an evening like this could be. I think I’ve been waiting for this for days, without knowing it. I feel much better, really.”
“I’m so glad,” she says, seriously. “I’ve been a little bit blue, myself.”
“You?” Incredulous. “I didn’t know that you ever felt blue. What on earth were you blue about?”
“Oh, I’m such a useless person. I don’t really do a damned thing. I’ve been thinking all day about things. And then when I see people like you and Emma having your troubles too—you were two people that I always thought of as being fulfilled, sort of. Now it seems to take away my last hope. Emma’s my best friend, in a way, and now I find that you’ve both been very unhappy. It just fits in with everything else.”
“You make me feel very guilty. I didn’t want to depress you. I’ve been selfish.”
“Oh, I was depressed already! No, you made me feel a little better, somehow.”
“My dear,” you say softly, “I do think you’re taking it harder than I did. You’ve been telling me that I am too sympathetic, too.”
“Well, it isn’t just sympathy, perhaps,” she says. “I was applying everything to myself.”
“You think too much,” you advise. “Stop thinking too hard about life. It never does any good. I know. I’ve done it too.”
She is silent, and you begin again. “Barbara,” taking her hand, “I want to give you some advice. I’m a lot older than you are and I think we’re something alike. Don’t you?”
“Well, yes,” she says. “I have thought so.”
“There are things a lot more important than little married relationships such as Emma’s and mine. It’s those things that really fill our lives, Barbara. For instance this talk I’ve had with you tonight means much more to me than any little love-affair. Don’t you see what I mean?”,
“Yes, I think so. We are friends, aren’t we? Real friends.”
“That’s it. Here we are talking about this and that, and it’s the most pleasant thing I’ve ever done. It’s been a quiet civilized sort of time. Not everyone is capable of such a relationship. Don’t you think we’re a little ahead of the rest of them?”
She watches you and nods. “Yes, you’re right.”
Pat her hand. “You’re an adorable child. The fire needs fixing. Just a minute.”
“Oh, Ben!” she cries. “I have to go. Really. Don’t fix it for me.”
“Too late,” sitting down again. “It’s caught already. You’ll have to wait a while longer.”
She hesitates, looking at her wrist watch. “I oughtn’t.”
“Just a minute, dearest.”
“Well, all right.” She smiles at you. Catch your breath and then seize her in your arms.
“Oh Barbara! I do love you so, much!”