Stephen Dixon - Gould

Wait, did you say anything about her not being smart?” and his friend said “She wasn’t, was she? — not too much.” “Anyway, nothing I can do about that. Eyes, taste, your own handicaps or prejudices or just that you never engaged her in a deep conversation, or that she didn’t fill your bill in the bones and flesh categories But we had lots of fun together. I mean, where I really went hysterical with laughing, both of us together, and not from pot. And she had a very good mind. Would read a difficult novel, poetry or as much as she hated the subjects, an article on philosophy or some literary criticism I handed her — unlearned, you see, never got through high school — but would understand it more incisively than I most times and more than lots of scholars could. Why? Intuitive knowledge, instinctive, common sense, saw through things and could read between the lines and so on — incisiveness, as I said, all easy and natural. So we discussed things like that — long discussions, no fancy words or references or quotes from literary big shots or other books — and movies and plays we went deeply into too. And we both adored her son. Another plus. You don’t have a kid or want one so you’re shaking your head it’s nothing, it’s nothing, but you don’t know what you’re missing,” and his friend said “The art bullshit sessions don’t interest me either,” and he said “I know, it’s not what you like or appreciate — movies, you do, even talking about them at length. She also made a nice home for us. Very nice things; she had great taste, picked up treasures in Goodwill and St. Vincent de Paul; I felt very comfortable there. You’re a slob so this doesn’t mean anything to you, stinky jockey briefs in the kitchen sink, greasy pots piled high in the toilet bowl,” and his friend said “Thanks a lot; you really know me.” “I like things neat and attractive and a house in order and uncluttered, with serious paintings or prints on the wall, nice light fixtures, and that’s what she did, with a little help from me. In ways our tastes in many things were almost identical; that doesn’t hurt a relationship. And she was good in bed. Now your eyes light up. ‘Good, bed, fuck, ug,’” and his friend said “Looking at her, I wouldn’t’ve thought it; but knowing how much you like sex, it sort of makes sense.” “She always put out for me when I wanted — not something every woman did — or most of the time. Handed me her body almost, or turned around with her backside to me, as if saying ‘Here, I’m sleepy, not even up to performing, do what you want with it’—but with restrictions of course. Though I think I have her mixed up with someone else. Sorry. She, actually, couldn’t be persuaded to do anything she didn’t want to. And sure, she was a tremendous ballbreaker too and we wouldn’t do it for weeks at a time sometimes because we loathed each other and wanted to live any way but together and even did the separate rooms bit,” and his friend said “So why didn’t you leave? If something like that happened to me with some girl, I’d say ‘Man overboard,’ and jump,” and he said “Good question. I never understood why, several times, I didn’t leave absolutely and indisputably and unreturnably for good. It was during my needy way-down-on-myself period maybe. Maybe I got too comfortable in her house and with her kid and in being to other people a much-admired pretend father. The pleasures of predictably recurrent sex once the enmity ends. That I was a poor lonely putz but at least had a nice house and some family life. Also, I was going nowhere so at least for the time being was somewhere, and so on — you need more reasons? When it was good it was almost okay, blah blah. She needed me lots of times too and when I was out of her life no one missed me more, till the last time when she was giddy at my being gone and stayed that way. ‘Aren’t we better off now?’ she’d say on the phone — I forget who called, probably me with some lame excuse for calling. ‘Isn’t life really better for you now that we’re split?’ If I said ‘Well, I guess so, but still .’ she’d say ‘No, it is for me and if it isn’t for you yet it will be. Wait, my new beau wants to talk to you.’ But sometimes, before that, I thought we broke up just so we could get back together again in a month and for a few days, or a day or two, have the wildest most uninhibited and saddest — cries, tears, whoopees — time a couple could. In other words — well, in other words what? I can’t think; Elephant beer we had to order. But I found her beautiful — I shouldn’t forget that as a reason for staying. I’d look at her nose, eyes, the lips, everything. Tout le face. The most gorgeous I’d ever seen in a woman I was close to,” and his friend said “That’s nuts,” and reeled off names. “And they had tits, these women, gigantic to big to medium to only a little bit small, but something there you could squeeze or push your face into,” and he said “Tits . Why’s it matter so much? You need them to feed off of? But I’ll never win on that with you. Some guys are like that and some — a few — could care less. None could care nothing, I suppose, but you have to understand there are many other things in a woman, physical and emotional and so on, to supersede if not go way way beyond them. Just as if one guy has an enormous dick and the others don’t, big deal, there are so many other things in those men that should be important to a woman, or one would hope they’d be there. Believe me, after the first few days with Evangeline, they didn’t—” and his friend said “Bullshit.”

His mother’s younger brother came out to California on business and took them to dinner. They got a baby-sitter. “If the sitter costs a lot,” his uncle said, “since I know how expensive services can be in California and how financially short you two are, I’d like to take care of it,” and Gould said no. She laughed a lot at the table, especially at some of the remarks his uncle made and jokes he told. Held his uncle’s hand as he walked them to their car, gave him a big kiss and hug good-bye, waved to him as they drove off. She seemed sincere in all this. During the drive home: “I had the most wonderful time tonight, best in ages, and I know why. It was that man. He’s so unlike your mother — anyone in your family. Extremely funny, smart, successful, gentle, self-effacing, mannerly. Dashing, even — clothes he wore, things he said, way he spoke, how he handled himself with the overbearing headwaiter and waiters, as if educated at the best prep schools and then at Princeton or Yale and later a year at Oxford or someplace. A very generous and big-hearted person. It was a great evening, thank you,” and he said “The food was good too,” and she said “Food, food; yes, it was good, excellent, but those things don’t make an evening. If the food had been lousy and the service terrible it still would have been a great evening because of him,” and he said “I didn’t know you went for older men,” and she said “Don’t be stupid.” “I’ve never met anyone quite like her,” his uncle said on the phone a few days later when Gould called him in New York to thank him for the dinner. “She bowled me over. She’s a knockout from the word go, a dear young woman too, and intelligent? Oh my gosh. I should have a few like her working on my staff. What does she see in you, I wonder? — only kidding, my boy. You’re one lucky stiff. Don’t lose her for anything or ever ruin it by becoming a scoundrel or pretending to be a fool,” and he said “Say, when I’m through with her, or vice versa, or by some magic it’s mutual, I’ll give you her number, though I don’t know what Aunt Dee would say,” and his uncle said “Excuse me, Gould, and I don’t want you to take this as harsh criticism, but as far as foolish behavior’s concerned, what you said is exactly what I meant.”