Read Online We Are Still Married by Garrison Keillor - Free Book Online
Authors: Garrison Keillor
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the incredible richness she brought to the relationship, and yet he couldnât get beyond itâuntil Hollywood called. A top box-office draw saved a marriage. Itâs as simple as that.
A top draw, it should be said, who himself had failed thus far to make a lifelong commitment to another person. A top draw whose multiple romances filled gossip columns but never gave him the sense of bonding he sought in the shallow, fast-moving film world.
âWhen I call up these people, ordinary people, middle Americans, and assist them with a problem, I always receive more than I give,â he says.
Beatty had no idea how much he would receive until a month ago, when the white phone rang in his Malibu hideawayâthe ultra-secret phone, the number of which was known only to six personsâand he answered it. âWarren, this is Julie Dittman, in Muncie, Indiana,â said a soft and yet incredibly strong voice. âI want to talk.â
His first thought was to hang up, but somethingâher sincerity, perhapsâattracted him to her, and he sat down and listened for almost two hours as she poured out her concern for him, not as a screen star but as a human being.
âYouâre defensive, and of course you have to be, with so many unscrupulous people trying to get a piece of you, and yet it has left you hungering for real intimacy in a relationship built on absolute trust,â she said, and instantly he knew she was right. She sounded wonderfully close and real as she said, âI hate to intrude on your privacy, and yet, when I sense hurt, how can I distance myself? How can I pretend that itâs not my problem, too?â
He was moved by her concern, moved in a way he had always wanted to be moved and yet had never dared to ask to be moved, and instinctively, not taking even one second to think about it, he asked her to marry him.
She hesitated, wondering if at this point in her life her own growth as a person might be threatened by marriage to the sexual fantasy of millions of women, and then said yes.
It turned out to be the best thing either of them had ever done in their entire lives.
In the fuzzy photograph of them emerging from a Santa Monica laundromat that appeared in People recently, Julie Dittman appears to be no starlet but a fifty-one-year-old divorced mother of three who could stand to lose a few pounds. Yet to Warren she is a woman of fantastic vitality, a deeply caring woman, a woman who loves sunsets and children and laughter and long conversations and cats and quiet dinners and going barefoot and listening to Vivaldi, and he nurtures her, accepting his half of all household choresâeven though she protests, âNo, darling! You have commitments, multi-picture contracts, development deals, artistic obligations!â The forty-five-year-old screen idol scrubs floors, shops for fresh vegetables and fruits, repairs appliances, even cleans the oven.
âWarren has thrown away his career,â says one old pal, but has he? Or has he found a new one? One thing is sure: no pal of his dares criticize Julie to his face. Jack Nicholson called her âdumpyâ once, and he and Warren didnât speak for days. To Warren, she is the source of happiness. She now takes all his calls, and even if youâre a top producer, if she thinks youâre phony or stuck up or only trying to use Warren and not really caring about him, you may as well say goodbye right then and there.
A LIBERAL REACHES FOR HER WHIP
O UR MOTHERS BROUGHT US ALL UP to be nice people. We all knew what it meant. Around the age of fifteen we may have thought niceness was too uncool and was retarding our development as sex symbols and we may have bumped around in the dark for a while, being nice and trying to hide it, but eventually we came out as a very nice person, or basically nice, or nice once you get to know him. Or not so nice.
Nice people are quiet and responsible and donât make you pay a big
A top draw, it should be said, who himself had failed thus far to make a lifelong commitment to another person. A top draw whose multiple romances filled gossip columns but never gave him the sense of bonding he sought in the shallow, fast-moving film world.
âWhen I call up these people, ordinary people, middle Americans, and assist them with a problem, I always receive more than I give,â he says.
Beatty had no idea how much he would receive until a month ago, when the white phone rang in his Malibu hideawayâthe ultra-secret phone, the number of which was known only to six personsâand he answered it. âWarren, this is Julie Dittman, in Muncie, Indiana,â said a soft and yet incredibly strong voice. âI want to talk.â
His first thought was to hang up, but somethingâher sincerity, perhapsâattracted him to her, and he sat down and listened for almost two hours as she poured out her concern for him, not as a screen star but as a human being.
âYouâre defensive, and of course you have to be, with so many unscrupulous people trying to get a piece of you, and yet it has left you hungering for real intimacy in a relationship built on absolute trust,â she said, and instantly he knew she was right. She sounded wonderfully close and real as she said, âI hate to intrude on your privacy, and yet, when I sense hurt, how can I distance myself? How can I pretend that itâs not my problem, too?â
He was moved by her concern, moved in a way he had always wanted to be moved and yet had never dared to ask to be moved, and instinctively, not taking even one second to think about it, he asked her to marry him.
She hesitated, wondering if at this point in her life her own growth as a person might be threatened by marriage to the sexual fantasy of millions of women, and then said yes.
It turned out to be the best thing either of them had ever done in their entire lives.
In the fuzzy photograph of them emerging from a Santa Monica laundromat that appeared in People recently, Julie Dittman appears to be no starlet but a fifty-one-year-old divorced mother of three who could stand to lose a few pounds. Yet to Warren she is a woman of fantastic vitality, a deeply caring woman, a woman who loves sunsets and children and laughter and long conversations and cats and quiet dinners and going barefoot and listening to Vivaldi, and he nurtures her, accepting his half of all household choresâeven though she protests, âNo, darling! You have commitments, multi-picture contracts, development deals, artistic obligations!â The forty-five-year-old screen idol scrubs floors, shops for fresh vegetables and fruits, repairs appliances, even cleans the oven.
âWarren has thrown away his career,â says one old pal, but has he? Or has he found a new one? One thing is sure: no pal of his dares criticize Julie to his face. Jack Nicholson called her âdumpyâ once, and he and Warren didnât speak for days. To Warren, she is the source of happiness. She now takes all his calls, and even if youâre a top producer, if she thinks youâre phony or stuck up or only trying to use Warren and not really caring about him, you may as well say goodbye right then and there.
A LIBERAL REACHES FOR HER WHIP
O UR MOTHERS BROUGHT US ALL UP to be nice people. We all knew what it meant. Around the age of fifteen we may have thought niceness was too uncool and was retarding our development as sex symbols and we may have bumped around in the dark for a while, being nice and trying to hide it, but eventually we came out as a very nice person, or basically nice, or nice once you get to know him. Or not so nice.
Nice people are quiet and responsible and donât make you pay a big
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