is so strong that he has to actively resist it, or he’ll be overwhelmed. Like most men, he’s afraid of his emotions. He’s not only running from me. He’s running from himself.”
“Makes perfect sense to me,” observed Sandra, who was trying to see Bill as Helen saw him, “up to a point. If we were talking about some other man, I’d agree with you. They are scared of expressing what they feel, but that doesn’t seem to be Bill’s problem. His problem seems to be that he has the emotional capacity of a clam. He doesn’t have anything to express.”
“What about George, Helen?” Joan interjected. “He was so different. So kind, so protective. Did he ever act like Bill? Mine never did. There was a kind of instant spark between us. We were in love before we knew it. He can act like an oaf, but he doesn’t act like that toward me. He’s never done that. And he wouldn’t, because he knows what’s good for him.” She waved her knife and fork in the air again, this time in a threatening manner.
“Bill is much like George was,” Helen replied. “The only difference, I think, is that George met me when I was young and beautiful.”
“We are all still young and beautiful,” Sandra contradicted her forcefully. “Every one of us. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Helen and Joan smiled at Sandra’s flattery. It was a delightful thing to hear.
Helen continued. “I think Bill’s divorce really scarred him psychologically. In all the years he hung around with George, he never talked about his ex-wife. Never. He joked about how cold she was a few times, but that’s it. I think he was so wounded by the experience that he hasn’t been able to go forward emotionally. I also think he knows that he contributed to the problems that lead to the divorce, although he won’t admit it. He won’t accept any responsibility for what happened or acknowledge that he shared in the blame, so what he’s done is regress. Humans have to go in some direction while they’re alive, and he’s gone backwards. He’s retreated to a psychological state, a mentality he had before the divorce, and he’s stuck there, hiding from everyone, but mostly from himself. Since he doesn’t want to recognize the passage of time or act his age, only younger women—who, of course, have to be good-looking, because that makes them seem younger—can feed his delusions. That’s why, I think, if he could see me somewhat as George did thirty years ago, I think he’d forget all about the Lindas and Tanyas he’s always chasing, acting like a fool. He can’t really think that women fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five years younger than him have any actual interest in him. He’s not stupid.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Joan remarked. “We tend to overestimate men all the time, simply because they’re men, and they’ve ruled the world up until now. Bill’s just another guy.”
“I think he knows,” replied Helen, “that if he was rich, his situation would be different. There are younger women who would stay with him. They’d gladly put up with him to spend his money. But because he’s only middle class with a modest lifestyle...”
“You mean poor lifestyle,” observed Sandra dryly. “He acts like a borderline beggar.”
“He does,” smiled Helen, “He enjoys it, too, I think. So much so, that I’ve never seen him with an American girlfriend. I’ve heard him say that foreign women are more interesting, but I think he believes they are less materialistic than Americans and more likely to give him a chance. His girlfriends have been mostly Asian, Hispanic, or Russian immigrants.”
“He’s so shallow,” Joan scoffed. “Foreigners always think Americans are rich, so they would have higher expectations of him. They’d also be less forgiving of his faults, I think, especially his cheap ways.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Sandra began. “And I have a suggestion. But first we better all have another glass of wine. It may help open our minds and make what I have to say more intelligible.” She waved her right hand energetically high above her head to get the waiter’s attention.
Chapter 20
In a state of triumphant euphoria, Bill returned to his apartment. He may have been on his feet as he walked through the door, but in reality he was floating, carried on the invisible vapors and mystical, emotional currents of love.
When he had left the salon in a rapturous state, because of Donna and their date next