Three Loves (Chapter Eight)

Paul's eyes about popped out when I showed him the three wonderful photos of my DEMOCRAT LAWYER.


"Your friend has it BAD for you!" he exclaimed. "It's written all over his face!!!"


"I'd like to believe so," I replied. "But I don't know if I see that in the pictures. He simply has a nice smile."


It wasn't that I didn't WANT to believe what Paul was telling me! Words can't even begin to describe how much I did!!!


But, even though I'm a hopeless romantic (and a hopeful romantic, too), I'm also a realist! I know how easy it is to read in something you want to be there, even when it might not be.


I was very aware that we were at different stages in our life.


In my case, I wasn't on an all-out campaign to catch me a man. Even so, I was young (FAIRLY young, anyway), single, and not carrying a torch for anyone else. Therefore, I was open to being swept off of my feet.


On the other hand, the guy I loved was in the process of getting a divorce and was probably very confused about his feelings.


Even though he'd been in love with someone other than his wife for many years, he might still be wondering if, perhaps, he and his wife should give their marriage another shot before turning their backs on over 20 years together.


I knew that--if this should happen, and it truly was a case of rekindled love (or even genuinely falling in love with each other for the first time)--I would have to do the right thing and get any romantic thoughts about him out of my mind.


However, things didn't seem to be moving in that direction, and they seemed to be satisfied with living their own lives while over 100 miles apart from each other, though staying teamed-up in a friendly and civil way when it came to being parents.


Even so, the divorce wasn't final yet, and a lot of things could happen.


My prayers were simply for the best outcome of this situation, whatever it turned out to be--and for the strength to be genuinely happy for them, if they could breathe love and life back into their marriage.


Then, there was the case of "the other woman."


As far as I could tell, she'd never really loved him--only what he could offer her in the material and professional bettering of her life.


As soon as she'd gotten all she could out of him, she not only spit him out like worn-out chewing-gum but, also, ground him into the pavement with her foot.


I don't condone adultery in any way, shape, or form--so, in a sense, he got what was coming to him.


Yet--without putting a stamp-of-approval on what he did--I can still see the gray in the black and white of it all.


He was in a marriage (on paper), but it was sort of a dead-end one.


It wasn't that one partner or the other was causing the marriage to be miserable, and it wasn't that either of them had gone into the marriage for devious reasons. It was just one of those cases where you meet, couple up, feel "safe," and drift into marriage, just because it's the next expected step.


If you've read the short story by Joyce Carol Oates called FOUR SUMMERS, you would find an example of such a marriage in the fourth summer of this four-part, first-person story.


If you've seen the movie THE WEDDING PLANNER (Note: This movie actually figures in with an important part of this story, but more on that when it's time to reveal it!), just imagine what would have happened if Steve had married Fran and didn't rescue Mary until years after their wedding instead of before.


There would be fewer sad cases like what happened to my friend and his wife, if there were more emphasis on getting married because there's a certain someone you want to marry instead of getting married because you want to get married (e.g. Don't want to be the only girl in my Senior class who doesn't have an engagement ring accessory to go with my cap and gown!).


I believe that the divorce rate would go way down if more people listened to their hearts and gut-instincts when making the decision to marry, rather than being so in love with the idea of the fairytale wedding that they can talk themselves into almost anything to make it come to pass.


Okay! Off my soapbox and back to my story. . .


The Indiana Arts Commission would be making their choices re: who would be receiving grants from them, and it would be a two-day process.


I was invited to come and listen to the naming of the receivers.


This was ideal for me, because the building where this would take place--the historical Indiana Theatre--was reachable by the tunnel system. I would not only be spending part of my day at the theatre but, also, at the State House and other interesting places.


Note: Since this time, this marvelous area has become part of Circle Centre Mall--a very worthwhile place to enjoy yourself in a wide variety of ways!


After I'd left the area, I would be going to the suburban skyscraper that housed, among other things, the suite of my sweetheart.


I was disappointed, upon arriving, to find his suite to be closed.


I decided to call his apartment with an "I am here--Where are YOU!?!" message--hoping to relay it to the guy, himself, but settling for his answering machine when I found that he wasn't in.


My message to him was that I wanted to give him his copy of the pictures--and that they really looked sexy.


I sat around a little more in the vending area on the first floor of the building--and then decided to make another call to see if he happened to be in.


He wasn't, so I left another message, telling him that I was in the vending area and would be staying there for at least another half-hour or so in case he wanted to drop by.


After that, I met some interesting people and got into a big conversation with them.


I've slept since then, but I'm sure that I left him a message at that point that I'd found some interesting people to talk to and would actually probably be around closer to an hour.


After an hour went by, I called and told him I was leaving.


By now, I knew that I wasn't going to be one of the ones receiving the grant, but I still wanted to go to part of Thursday's session just to rub elbows with other writers.


But I wasn't in any rush to get there, so I decided to drop by my DEMOCRAT LAWYER's office first and give him his copy of the pictures.


The receptionist I'd met the first time I was there saw me and gave me a big grin saying, "I remember you! You're the lady who was here a couple of weeks ago!"


"I'm back with the pictures I took," I told her and another lady working with her.


They looked at the pictures and commented on how good they were of him--even though neither of them said anything on the order of what Paul had said.


The receptionist went to tell him I was there.


Soon, he came into the reception area and asked me to come back to his office.


"We need to talk. . ." he began, looking very serious.


I could pretty much guess what he was going to say next---but I just wasn't sure exactly how he'd say it.


He began by telling me how answering machines--at least his--worked: That they would go to about ten messages and then start over again, erasing the oldest messages one-by-one each time a new message was left.


He told me that, by leaving so many individual messages, I'd erased an important message from one of his sons, and he didn't know that his son needed to talk to him until the next day when he called again and asked his dad why he hadn't gotten back with him.


I apologized, and he asked me why I hadn't called him on his office phone.


"Because you weren't there," I replied.


"Yes I was. I was in all evening."


"Well, the suite was locked, and it looked pretty deserted to me," I told him.


He told me that, most nights, he was in there working.


I told him that I thought he made house calls to clients many times during the evening, and he said that he had to stop doing that, though he didn't go on and say why.


Then, it was time for the other shoe to drop--though he seemed to want to drop it as gently as possible.

TO BE CONTINUED. . . "Three Loves (Chapter Nine)"