I was seen in an embrace in the back of a bar by a friend of my father's, a woman named Marleen, who looked upon the scene with displeasure, as the man I was embracing or letting embrace me was not only married but in her opinion, low matter.
When back inside the bar, she took my arm and led me to a table in the corner where she attempted to articulate her views which included shaking her head and rolling her eyes as if to say "It's so obvious." She added that she thought he was creepy and gave a little shudder. She wondered what was with me--an attractive, smart woman who could certainly do better for male companionship than this cretin--but she didn't know me at all at that time so wrote it off as new in town and uninformed. She wanted to warn me. Those who hang out in bars know things or intuit things I wouldn't, coming from a college town and libraries. I was moving back to my hometown after having been away for some time. I was feeling reckless.
Naturally, I paid no heed to her warning; I never do. Two days later I ran into her and she invited me to dinner and made it known it was especially to meet a man, a friend of hers. A man, while not perfect, she said, still several stages higher than the one I was embracing behind the bar. Again with the little shudder and rolling eyes. I found this funny but she was serious.
She implied that her friend appreciated art and culture and had been out in the world, “not easy to find in these parts,” she added as an additional sales pitch. "You might like him," she said though I sensed some hesitation. "He has some personal issues...but, well, you'll see. He can be a friend and you're new in town. I just think he's a better choice than that creep from the bar." Again with the shudder. "He will at least take you to some nice places."
My initial reaction was to say no thanks, as anyone's would be but I didn't have any real reason to decline so I let her ease me into yes. She had a forceful personality and I let myself be persuaded and wrote down an address. It couldn't hurt and I was a little curious by this time.
It was summertime so the dinner was casual. We had fresh trout, caught that day. I think there was wine; maybe I brought white wine. The men were drinking beer. The food was good, prepared in a simple, effortless way without embellishment. The friend was not bad looking, had a deep sensuous voice, a wicked eye and an artificial leg. He told the story of the motorcycle accident that ripped off his leg, his lying in the woods nearly unconscious and eventually crawling to the road and hoping someone would see him and not run him over. To me this was quite a horror story but he told it in a way that wasn't morbid; it had been five years since that night and he'd relayed this drama many times. He used it to good effect.
I began an affair with him shortly thereafter. He was a wild lover with a shaky psyche. That he was not exactly perfect was no surprise but that is another story. I'm trying not to have regrets but to view things dispassionately. He did take me to some nice places.
I also began an affair with the married man embraced behind the bar and that too, is another story. I believe I am still that same reckless woman though now I have bouts of discomfiture. Stories live on in a small town when you've long moved on. Marleen, the woman who interfered when she saw something she didn't like and tried for an antidote, a stranger really, is also long forgotten--I'm not even sure I have her name right--but what is not forgotten is her concern: a sort of sisterhood that impressed me at the time.
But in the end, she did not save me at all but instead complicated my life for a time as her selection was not one to let things go. He stalked me for one entire winter and I had to move back to the college town for awhile just to get some peace. Eventually he had a mental breakdown and spent a few months in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital. He called me the devil but years later reconsidered and called me an angel of mercy.
My selection, the married man who was described as creepy also complicated my life; that was to be expected. Our affair had many stops and starts over the years and his wife was probably none too pleased with any of it though she once told he she didn't care at all when I ran into her in the hospital elevator. He also spent time in the psychiatric ward though he did not blame it on me but on Vietnam and the military and his wife's refusal to give him sex.
Marleen's selection, while single, more cultivated and better looking managed to earn my disdain in numerous ways most especially by the threats of violence and paranoid jealousy I had to endure. He also destroyed the portrait I did of him and dumped the pieces on my front porch in the middle of the night while my mother was visiting me which I deeply resented. It was a very good likeness and had won a small award in a juried show. He scared my mother and I vowed revenge though my father said he has suffered enough and to let it go.
My selection, the man embraced behind the bar, while married, not particularly attractive or brilliant managed to keep my regard for the most part. He had an endearing sense of humor Marleen's selection completely lacked. When he divorced, nearly 20 years later than when this story began, I was once again seen embracing him in a parking lot to the disapproval of nearly everyone. The portrait I did of him, while only a quick sketch, unfortunately burned up in a fire at his hunting camp.
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