have you thrown out of here.”
“You see,” she said triumphantly. “You won’t listen. Harriet, I’m your oldest and probably only friend. You can’t go on this way. You must go to a doctor. I’d send you to mine, but to be honest, I don’t want to share him. It’s very possessive and childish of me, I know; we’ve been working on it for months.”
“You have my promise, I won’t steal him away from you.”
“But Harriet, your behavior isn’t normal. You’re so furious all the time, so rude, so disagreeable. I’ve known you all my life, and I forgive you. But I swear, I don’t know how Claude stands for it. This place always looks like a cyclone hit it.”
“I can live without him, too.”
“Something is wrong between you and Claude.” She pounced on the possibility with all the eagerness of Dr. Barnard finding a beating heart in a battered donor.
It occurred to me that one of the worst aspects of the breakup would be the free pleasure it would give Maxine. If I could at least charge her admission.
“Harriet, Harriet,” she wailed, “you must go for help. You can’t go on this way, alienating friends, lovers, your family, everyone. A woman can’t survive in this society completely isolated, alone, unloved. And the basis of it all, of all your problems, is that you don’t love yourself. It’s so clear. Just look at how you’re neglecting yourself. It breaks my heart. It’s all self-hate. How can anyone love you if you don’t love yourself? Fix yourself up.”
She gave me a quick once-over and launched into her cosmetic view of the universe.
“Streak your hair a little; some highlights up front would brighten that muddy look of yours. Get a manicure. Lose some weight. Buy a few decent clothes. It’s a pity you’re so tall or I’d give you my old things. My girl walks around looking like a million bucks. Make yourself attractive so Claude can be proud to be seen with you. It’s not too late. All relationships go through their difficult periods. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you some of the insurmountable obstacles Jerry and I have conquered, because we were willing, because we worked at it together.”
Imagine my surprise to find myself listening attentively to Maxine’s abuse.
The bitch picked up the scent of my attention. “Is it another woman?” she demanded breathlessly. If she had had a tail at the end of her stunted spine, it would have pointed straight up into the air. Would that my life was the mindless soap opera Maxine yearned to hear.
“Could you manage not to be a fool for five seconds a day?”
“Well,” she demanded, “what’s happening between you and Claude? Isn’t he planning to marry you and take you back to Paris with him?”
If there’s one thing on this earth that irritates me, it’s when a dumpy, frigid, former nymphomaniac assumes that my tongue is hanging out, thirsting for marital bliss. It goes without saying that though ideally suited and ecstatically happy, Jerry and Maxine had flown directly from their wedding ceremony to group therapy, paying top prices for the privilege of insulting each other in front of an audience.
“I’ll make you a promise, Maxine, and then let’s adjourn this summit conference. I promise you that the day I decide to marry anyone I hate as much as you hate Jerry, one: you’ll be the first to know, and two: I’ll seek professional help.”
Did Maxine get the message and leave me in peace? Not a chance. She sat there radiant with superior knowledge. “My dear, that is precisely your sickness. You think everybody hates their life. You’re wrong. I don’t hate Jerry. I love him. My heart may not palpitate when he walks into the room, but I’m happy with him. I appreciate his devotion and goodness. I love our child, our home.”
“Excuse me very much, but if it’s love, sweet love, that makes you parade the streets like a crazed drag queen, if it’s happiness that drives you to come sniffing around
“You see,” she said triumphantly. “You won’t listen. Harriet, I’m your oldest and probably only friend. You can’t go on this way. You must go to a doctor. I’d send you to mine, but to be honest, I don’t want to share him. It’s very possessive and childish of me, I know; we’ve been working on it for months.”
“You have my promise, I won’t steal him away from you.”
“But Harriet, your behavior isn’t normal. You’re so furious all the time, so rude, so disagreeable. I’ve known you all my life, and I forgive you. But I swear, I don’t know how Claude stands for it. This place always looks like a cyclone hit it.”
“I can live without him, too.”
“Something is wrong between you and Claude.” She pounced on the possibility with all the eagerness of Dr. Barnard finding a beating heart in a battered donor.
It occurred to me that one of the worst aspects of the breakup would be the free pleasure it would give Maxine. If I could at least charge her admission.
“Harriet, Harriet,” she wailed, “you must go for help. You can’t go on this way, alienating friends, lovers, your family, everyone. A woman can’t survive in this society completely isolated, alone, unloved. And the basis of it all, of all your problems, is that you don’t love yourself. It’s so clear. Just look at how you’re neglecting yourself. It breaks my heart. It’s all self-hate. How can anyone love you if you don’t love yourself? Fix yourself up.”
She gave me a quick once-over and launched into her cosmetic view of the universe.
“Streak your hair a little; some highlights up front would brighten that muddy look of yours. Get a manicure. Lose some weight. Buy a few decent clothes. It’s a pity you’re so tall or I’d give you my old things. My girl walks around looking like a million bucks. Make yourself attractive so Claude can be proud to be seen with you. It’s not too late. All relationships go through their difficult periods. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you some of the insurmountable obstacles Jerry and I have conquered, because we were willing, because we worked at it together.”
Imagine my surprise to find myself listening attentively to Maxine’s abuse.
The bitch picked up the scent of my attention. “Is it another woman?” she demanded breathlessly. If she had had a tail at the end of her stunted spine, it would have pointed straight up into the air. Would that my life was the mindless soap opera Maxine yearned to hear.
“Could you manage not to be a fool for five seconds a day?”
“Well,” she demanded, “what’s happening between you and Claude? Isn’t he planning to marry you and take you back to Paris with him?”
If there’s one thing on this earth that irritates me, it’s when a dumpy, frigid, former nymphomaniac assumes that my tongue is hanging out, thirsting for marital bliss. It goes without saying that though ideally suited and ecstatically happy, Jerry and Maxine had flown directly from their wedding ceremony to group therapy, paying top prices for the privilege of insulting each other in front of an audience.
“I’ll make you a promise, Maxine, and then let’s adjourn this summit conference. I promise you that the day I decide to marry anyone I hate as much as you hate Jerry, one: you’ll be the first to know, and two: I’ll seek professional help.”
Did Maxine get the message and leave me in peace? Not a chance. She sat there radiant with superior knowledge. “My dear, that is precisely your sickness. You think everybody hates their life. You’re wrong. I don’t hate Jerry. I love him. My heart may not palpitate when he walks into the room, but I’m happy with him. I appreciate his devotion and goodness. I love our child, our home.”
“Excuse me very much, but if it’s love, sweet love, that makes you parade the streets like a crazed drag queen, if it’s happiness that drives you to come sniffing around
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