There’s a guy in an old-fashioned bathtub, the kind with claws, and I can only see his feet, legs, and his arm hanging over the side. I can’t see his face. He is wearing black socks and a pair of clunky black shoes, like old Doc Martens, and he has a wedding dress on, a lacy, white puffed-out wedding dress. The bathtub is not in a bathroom; rather it’s on a white floor in a blank setting, much like a movie set. No one else is around. I stand about six feet away watching this guy and I can see that his pants are pulled up; yeah, he has on a pair of black pants under the wedding dress, and his ankles and calves are revealed, showing a healthy growth of black hair on his legs. Pretty soon, from a distance, I see a woman walking toward me. She walks slowly, easily, as if she is relaxed but purposeful. Soon I see that it’s Sally. She has a smile on her face and I have the thought that she is coming to help me. I look back and forth, from the guy in the bathtub to Sally. She keeps coming. I know she is going to help me here, but with what? What am I doing here? Why do I need help? Is the guy in trouble? Am I? She is nearly next to me and extends her hand. I wake up.
I am bleary with sleep and not very coherent, but I remember the dream. Not one to interpret dreams or behaviors to a great extent, I am still struck by the elements in this one and curious. It seems this guy—I’m not sure which one of us—has an issue with sexual identity. Commitment maybe, hence the wedding dress. Am I the guy in the bathtub and the observer? Could be. And then Sally strolls into the picture to help me! Sally is going to help me with my issues of commitment and sexual identity? Well, we all learn, or ideally we learn, from the relationships we are in, but this all comes as a surprise, that I need help with either one of these issues. I tuck this away for future contemplation.
I crawl out of bed, look in on Dorothy and make my way to the kitchen. I start some water on the stove and glance over at the answering machine. There is a message from Sid. Unusual.
“Hey Rex. It’s Sid. I’d like to get together and talk. Can you meet me and Jean at Anthony’s tonight and we’ll crack some crab together. Hope you can make it on short notice. Call. Thanks.”
Hmmm, what’s up with Sid? Something with the show, I guess.
***
I joined Sid and Jean at a window table overlooking the water. They had apparently arrived early; I was on time and they were enjoying cold martinis, looking out at the clouds that covered the Olympics. Sid immediately got out of his chair and extended his hand.
“Hi, Rex, so glad you could join us. Please meet my wife Jean. Honey this is Rex, our newest talk-show host.”
Jean turned slightly in her chair and gave me a warm smile. She then lifted her glass and said, “So this is Rex, the sex guy.”
I smiled, a tad bit embarrassed and felt my face glow. Here was a woman at ease with herself, warm, relaxed, and, I guessed, accustomed to having a martini before dinner on most nights. She had full, rosy cheeks that had not sagged with age, a full mouth that was not burdened with lipstick but had a subtle glow, and a full head of dark, thick hair. She had the immediate appeal of a woman much younger than she must be, which I guessed to be seventy. The guess came from what I knew about her history with Sid.
“Please, join us.” They sat facing each other; I took the open chair facing the window. After the usual preliminaries and ordering, the menus were removed and Jean leaned forward, ready to have a conversation. Her manner and her tone were inviting and Sid seemed content to listen for the moment.
“So tell me something about ‘Rex,’ something that is not in the show or your bio for publicity. I have listened, by the way, to just about every show.”
I rarely was comfortable with this question, this open ended “give me a gem about yourself,” but I decided in the moment to say something different, something that might add a spark to the evening. I briefly thought about Dorothy and what she was up to with her about-to-be initiative but quickly decided that would be a cop out, something more about her than me. I liked Jean. I wanted to be open with her and believed she would be the same.
“I think the most important thing I could tell you right now is that I am still learning. And the most important question I have for myself is: ‘What have you learned about love?’ In fact, it’s the most important question I have for others too. Not that I am asking you right now, but before the evening is out, we may get to that.”
Sid took a draw on his martini. Jean sat back and pursed her lips.
“I like that.” She nodded and stuck her chin out a bit. “I think that’s the most important thing I’ve heard today, maybe this week. ‘Course we don’t have an answer yet, but, as Rilke said, you gotta love the question itself.”
“So you read Rilke?”
“Yes. Surprised?”
“Honestly, yes, a little. But only because most people don’t quote Rilke in the first ten minutes you know them.”
She smiled and lowered her eyelids.
“Fair enough, but you and I are not most people, are we?”
“That is becoming more apparent by the moment,” I countered. I felt engaged by this woman and happy to be so. I looked at Sid, suddenly aware that he had not said a word. He just smiled, a smirk almost, as if to say that he knew his wife well, had seen this before, and liked it. Jean took a sip of her drink.
“You think we’ll answer that question of yours tonight?” She looked directly at me.
“Maybe,” I said. “And for me it’s a moving target. My answer tonight will probably be different that the last time I answered it. And then it will be different next week, I guess.”
“So you’re not sure what you’ve learned? Is that what you’re saying?”
I squirmed a little and took a sip of my wine. “Maybe that, but more than likely I think what we learn changes. We learn something and maybe we think we know something and we move on to learn something else. Or maybe to relearn what we thought we knew. I just don’t think we arrive at some place of knowledge and stay there.”
The waiter arrived to save me, delivering crab cakes to me and Sid and crab Louie to Jean. Sid and I looked at our dinners, evaluating them, as most people do when they are served a restaurant meal, but Jean looked at the two of us.
“So, I’m wondering what these two men in front of me, one of whom is my favorite man in the world, think they have learned about love. I’m really curious.”
Sid raised his glass to his wife, acknowledging her words about him, and looked at me. “What was it that Oliver Hardy used to say . . . ‘this is a fine kettle of fish you’ve gotten us into.’ Thanks, Rex.”
“I’m doing my best, Sid. I’m doing my best, and she’s formidable.”
“You got that right.” We both picked up our forks. “Sweetheart, I’d love to answer that tonight, and you’re a dear to ask it,” Sid said, “but I’ve got other things on my mind. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course, dear, I understand. And you have such a smooth way of getting out of things.”
After the raspberry sorbet Sid turned to me, ready to address the reason he asked me to dinner in the first place. Jean sat back in her chair and watched her husband.
“I want to talk about the show, Rex.”
“Sure. I’d like that.” I was a little nervous as Sid and I had not had meaningful conversation about the show since I began. Elaine and I had reviewed some of the calls and talked some about ratings, which I knew were pretty good. There had been a nice short story in the Times about the show after the first two broadcasts.
“I know you’re very interested in relationships and love and philosophical issues. That’s very evident. You don’t have to go any farther than our dinner conversation tonight.” I nodded in agreement. “I’m in support of that. I want you to know that. But I have a little different emphasis in mind. We call this Keeping Seattle Up and we call you ‘Rex, the sex guy’ and I’m thinking we need to emphasize sex slightly more than we have.” I started to respond and Sid held his hand up, determined to finish his statement. “I think the real appeal and ground breaking is going to come when we can have a frank discussion about sexual issues—performance, fears, aging, satisfaction, boredom—do you get my drift?” I didn’t think it was a “drift” at all but a direct, on-the-money statement.
“I know what you mean, Sid. In fact, when I review the show in my own mind, I think I’m a little too scholarly and not down to earth enough.” He was nodding. Jean seemed very interested. “I’m new at this, so I’m not exactly sure how to pull this off, but I’m sure willing to go in this direction. It’s part of my original vision for the show.”
“Are you afraid of something?” Jean piped in, in a low voice, and sat forward in her chair. Here was a woman who could nail you with a few words.
“Good question, Jean.” I smiled at her. “I’d have to say ‘yes,’ and I think it’s about what I can say on the air and what I can’t say. I guess I’m somewhat afraid of getting KSID in trouble with the FCC or someone and worried about offending some listeners too.” I was glad to be having this conversation, glad to get this out in the open. I knew Sid was supportive and had the sense Jean was on my side too.
“What kinds of things would be offensive, do you think?” Sid asked.
“Words. Words that I might say and, more than that, words that listeners might say. Words that I don’t want to mention at this table. Also, I think about vivid, specific descriptions of the sex act. I’m not sure how far we can go with that.”
Sid turned to the waiter, who had just arrived at the table, and asked for coffee.
“Let’s do this,” he said. “I’ve had a talk with Stan. He’s a good man. Let’s let Stan and me worry about the words. That’s why we’ve got a fifteen second delay. And, Rex, I trust you. I’m not worried about you. I’d like you to loosen up a bit and invite listeners to do the same. I don’t see that we have a lot to lose.”
I looked down at the white tablecloth and gathered my thoughts. Here were a radio station owner and his wife identifying my fears, supporting me in taking risks and urging me to loosen up in life. I was the therapist and these two were challenging me and propping me up at the same time. Exactly what a therapist should do.
“I want to thank the two of you.” I felt the emotion come up in my chest. “It feels like you’re speaking for your station, for the show, and for me. I appreciate it. I appreciate your faith in me.” I grew silent. I knew what the lump in my throat was. These two, nearly strangers to me, had faith in me. I knew Sid had a radio station to run and that his ultimate interests were in his hard-earned company, but he was doing this with grace and care. I didn’t want to make too much of it here and now, but it had been a long time since someone, anyone, had given me that kind of gift.
Sid cleared his throat. “Think about it, Rex. Here we are having this conversation about you being more open about a topic that your listeners have trouble being open about. So much of the issue that I believe you want to deal with is the taboo around frank discussion and complete openness. So let’s open it up.”
“I think we’re on the same page, Sid.” He smiled and sat back in his chair. Jean put down her coffee cup and reached over to touch my arm.
“So, Rex, the sex guy, what have you learned about love?”
I put my hand over hers. “That it can come from unexpected places, at unexpected times.”
What have I learned?
I might need love more than I think I do.