Chapter Five

 

"Oh, Emmy, we are all in an uproar here! Where have you been?! Why haven't you returned my calls?"

Em's phone had rung at six in the morning, buzzing gently across her nightstand. Her hand had crawled from beneath the blanket and snapped it up, answering it before she had time to read the number on the screen. An evident mistake.

"I've been busy at work, Mama. What's the emergency?"

"What's the emergency? Your sister Jane is unemployed, Emmy! She's lost her job, and now she's likely to lose her place and end up here again! What on earth are we going to do?"

"Mama, Jane has lost her job before. She'll be fine." Em's older sister had unfortunate employment luck, it would seem. Nevertheless, she trusted Jane's resilience more than her mother's fears.

"But she's almost thirty-two, Emmy! Who's going to hire her? She's far too old for this sort of thing to happen to her anymore."

"Mother —"

"And there's not a sign of a boyfriend to rescue her by marriage, of course. Now she'll end up some haggard old maid that no man will want. Jane's got such a fragile side, she's liable to fall about in the end."

"I think that's hardly likely. Besides, I've been single for more of my life than Jane, and I'm not losing my mind."

"It's your own fault that it's taken you so long to find someone," her mother snapped. "It's your personality, Emmy — it puts men off."

Em wanted to retort that Frank didn't find her off-putting, but held her tongue. When she first began seeing him, Em's mother had told her that Frank was too good-looking for her.

"Jane doesn't have that, although it hardly matters. She's unemployed straightaway while your bosses overlook your flaws. And what are we to do, Emmy? What will happen to your sisters?"

So Jane had been helping them with the bills again. Did her father know about this? Em released a long sigh.

"They'll be fine," said Em. "Mary still has her scholarship, and she's not likely to lose it, is she?" Her younger sister Mary hardly had her nose out of a book, a somber, frog-voiced teenager with a love for libraries last time Em had been home, now a Philosophy and Religion major at a state college.

"What if she gives up school to get a job and support us all? Think of Lydia, who's not even in college yet — and Kit might as well forget about it. She'll probably have to take a job at the grocery store, like as not, to help pay the bills."

"Why Kit?" asked Emmy. Kit was a high-school senior who was supposed to start her freshmen year at the local college, an event for which her parents had actually saved a modest amount of money for tuition. "Why can't Lydia get a part-time job? It's not as if she has any extracurricular activities in high school — unless you count boy-watching at the football field as a sport."

"Why are you so hard on your sister? She's much more popular with her classmates than Mary ever was, or even Kit. It wouldn't be fair to steal the last of her childhood before she's off to some distant college where we'll never see her. Besides, it does Kit more good to get a job. It will teach her a few lessons in responsibility before she goes off into the world."

Her mother defended Lydia in everything, no matter what the accusation, which explained why Em's youngest sister was spoiled, wild, and completely immature. Even the all-night party incident hadn't put a dent in her mother's pride for Lydia's so-called 'popularity.'

"Be that as it may..." began Em.

"Not that it will do Kit any good to learn responsibility if she's stuck here working to cover the next doctor's bill! Do you realize the high cost of medicine, Emmy? We've had a bill for four hundred dollars for my prescriptions alone! And there's your father, always letting them give him some newfangled drug for his heart, when all he needs is exercise! It's my nerves that can't be helped, Emmy. My blood pressure and chronic fatigue that make do with the bare minimum in treatment. Not that I'm complaining, since I'm used to suffering in silence..."

"Mama. Mother. Listen. I will send something to help you both, all right?"

"Send something? Certainly. Of course. That's all you ever think of doing, sending something, when you know that Jane will probably be on our doorstep tomorrow with all her belongings and no money of her own, and us barely able to cover the electricity bill with your father's latest check —"

"Put Papa on the phone, Mama. Please."

"What good will it do to speak to him?"

"Please, just let me talk to him."

A moment later, her father's dry, gravelly voice was on the line. "I'm sure she's given you an earful, Emmy. It's not so bad as that."

"It's the usual, I take it?"

"In a nutshell. Don't worry, I won't let Kit spend her freshman college year working eight hour days at the A&P market, and I won't let Jane starve."

"I know, Papa." Em smiled. "It's all right. Just look after yourself."

"I always do."

Her father's generous early retirement package from his financial firm ought to be substantial enough for the Benton family, but Em's mother had a tendency to spend it on everything but the essentials. Her mother's indulgence was compulsive shopping, whereas Em's father tended to indulge his poor health, making doctor's appointments and weekly runs to the drugstore. Em was no longer sure if it was prompted by her father's heart condition — which was the reason for his early retirement — or if his constant health fears were merely an excuse to get out of the house.

She made a mental note to send a check to her mother this week. She would call it a present, in order to pacify her father.

Em threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Switching on the bathroom light, she saw her reflection in the mirror — messy, dark hair, dark pink lips, a lavender cami and drawstring pajama bottoms — before turning on the tap and plunging cold water over her face.

She was the opposite of her sister Jane, who was a tall, leggy blond with graceful curves and an easygoing nature. Em was shorter, darker, and with a little bit of temper which their mother never failed to find whenever she called. Whenever Em went home, she could still hear the squabbles from her adolescent years, echoing in the halls of her family's once-spacious-and-attractive, now in-need-of-paint-and-redecorating home. Now, however those voices belonged to her adolescent sisters, who were keeping alive the battlefield tradition of the Benton household.

When Em was dressed, she carried her coffee onto the short patio behind her rented house. This was the luxury her show's success had produced — a lawn instead of a window box, albeit a plain square of green compared to her neighbor's.

He was outside early this morning. George Knightly was a passionate fan of roses, spending hours cultivating them in great hedges and tangled vines across their dividing fence and his lawn's borders. She and George had become good friends over the past year. Good enough to loan each other books, recommend restaurant dishes, and say honest things that only friends can say to each other.

"Your mother phoned this morning," he said. He glanced up once from shearing through his hedge's overgrowth — Em could hear the snip, snip of his shears.

"How did you know?" she asked, amazed.

"Because that's the only time you come outside with your coffee. You're trying to tell yourself that you've accomplished something by looking at your little piece of Paradise. That you've built something out of your life, regardless of what others think."

"You should really be a psychologist," she said. "You have an amazing talent for reading people."

"I'd rather be a lie detector," he answered. "Imagine all the fun secrets you'd find out." He paused, resting one hand on the fence's picket edge. "So what's the matter?"

"With my family? Or my life? Because they're both just peachy, thank you." She took a sip from her coffee. "No need to complain."

"I heard about your upcoming face-off with the author of Relationship Realities."

"How?"

"I watch In the Moment."

"Oh. Well, don't congratulate me. As debate opponents go, he's a little mean."

"You should be fine. You're a little mean yourself. I've seen the vicious way you treat lawn weeds."

"Thanks." She cracked a grin. "So, you recognize Doctor Colin Ferris's celebrity, do you? Because I've scarcely heard of him, even though everybody's apparently talking about his book."

"I've read it," answered George. "Very interesting."

"Did you agree with him?" she asked. "Or is it one of those it'll-never-work theories — or a theory you hope you will never work?"

"Mm. Hm. None of the above," he answered. "But as an old-fashioned guy myself, I kind of like the idea of the 'gentleman' making a return in dating. Not just the opening doors and check-picking-up part. Knights in shining armor are pretty rare these days. There are a lot of lonely girls who can prove it."

"He's not a gentleman, you know," said Em. "I mean, maybe that's what he says in his book, but he's pretty cold and impersonal. I don't see him ever being a knight who treats all women with chivalry. In fact, he kind of implied that those men don't exist." She was thinking of his words about hapless Harriet's potential suitors.

"You haven't read his book, I take it," said George. "You want to?"

"Me? Yes. I'd love to," she answered. "I've been thinking about buying a copy. I suppose I'll have to, now that I'm ... working with him." Was that the right word for a man who was supposed to be her partner one afternoon, and her opponent the next?

"Wait here." George pulled off his gardening gloves and disappeared inside. He returned a moment later with a hardcover book.

"Here. Borrow mine," he said, handing it over the fence. "Read it in good health."

She recognized the illustration on the front — a cartoon of a serious-faced tuxedoed figure with a bouquet of roses — as the same edition of Relationship Realities she had seen in the bookstore. "Thank you," she said. Flipping it open, she saw the same author photo of Colin Ferris as his author's webpage displayed.

"Keep it as long as you need. You know where to find me." George slipped on his worn gardening gloves and begin snipping through the unruly branches of a blaze climbing rose.

It surprised Em that the front cover wasn't sporting a medieval figure in armor.

 

 

*****

 

 

"She'll need a lot of coaching, and sessions for self-examination, but she's not a hopeless case," said Em. "I don't particularly care about this thing succeeding for public relations purposes, but for Harriet's. Nobody should feel like a total failure in life when it comes to relationships. Especially romantic ones."

She was sitting on Frank's area rug, a plate of camembert and crackers and a cup of coffee next to her, picnic-style. The pages of his manuscript were spread across the floor — the latest chapter, the one on the over-metropolitan approach of the metro male — with plenty of red 'x's' and highlighted passages, which Frank called the 'necessary adjustments of genius.'

"What does your gut instinct tell you?" Frank rolled on his elbow from his position across from her, where he had been lying on his back, reading the notes they had made over the past half-hour.

"That she's a nice girl," said Em. "With a lot of problems seeing herself as worthy of a good guy. She's not perfect, but she's not undateable. Not for the right guy, anyway."

"So your challenge is finding the right guy."

"Maybe," said Em, who had her doubts about this solution, albeit doubts she was keeping under wraps for now. "Harriet's a romantic. She loves the idea of being in love, although I doubt she's ever felt the real thing — at least, not reciprocated. She'd be devoted to another person, I think."

Too devoted, the imp in her brain suggested. Em shrugged off this notion. "Her biggest obstacle is keeping herself from either being swallowed by a relationship, or crushed when it doesn't work out."

"The fragile self-ego curses us all," said Frank, sympathetically. "So what does your gut really tell you?" He gazed intently at her.

She sighed. "That Harriet is probably nowhere near being ready for this," she answered. "That we're just hoping to get her to survive a date, not preparing her to find the love of her life." She puffed out her cheeks, an exhale of frustration emerging a second later.

"And let me guess — Doctor Ferris wants to introduce her to the cold realities of the modern dating world to prove it, does he?"

"What makes you say that?" Em asked.

"Because of his book." Frank squirmed towards the bookshelf beside the sofa, pulling a volume from the many tumbled and stacked haphazardly on its shelves. Two more fell on the floor in response, including an Italian copy of his own book.

Frank's copy of Relationship Realities had a different cover than the one George had loaned her. He flipped it open. "In a nutshell, Colin Ferris's philosophy is that big, bad modern men, far from respecting a woman's separate identity and independence, have grown indifferent to her feminine status. We're a selfish, childish lot, happy to let a girl fend for herself when it comes to hailing cabs, walking home on dark city streets, or attending social events, rather than trouble ourselves to accompany her. Still worse, we think if we do, we'll be accused of being a stereotypical gentleman, a throwback to the era of male chauvinism."

Em recalled his behavior to her in the studio a few days ago. Was that proof of hypocrisy on Doctor Ferris's part? His behavior certainly contrasted with the relationship brand he was selling, in her opinion.

Aloud, she said, "So that's what all the fuss is about?"

"Oh, it gets better," said Frank. "Doctor Colin suggests we swim against the tide of the modern man undervaluing women. Here's a taste of his advice: 'Men have a responsibility to find an acceptable way to treat a woman in a manner that values all of her facets, including her feminine side.' Or, and this one kills me every time I see it quoted, 'To say that she deserves to be treated as a lady as well as an equal human being should not be confused with a mindset of the past, but viewed as the full range of modern respect.' In other words, practice those nice manners your mother didn't teach you, because she was too busy pursuing her manly career."

He lowered the book. "I apologize, Em, for not demonstrating your full worth by hailing every after-dinner cab for you. And for letting you pick up half the check at the Taj. And go to weddings alone."

"Apologies accepted," answered Em, playfully. "But I hardly think you need to take personally the point that Doctor Ferris is making. He means all men."

"It's not really the philosophy that bothers me," Frank replied. "Who's really opposed to a man paying for dinner, or buying a nice bouquet of roses now and then? It's not obligatory in a relationship, and it shouldn't be. It's the archaic nature of his text with which I take issue. It's so stiff. So precise. It reads like an academic for half a dozen lines, then tries to soften itself with bulleted points and personal address. It's your grandmother's etiquette book dressed in the garments of modern psychology and therapy." He closed the book and tossed it onto the rug.

"I'm dissing him one writer to another, Em," he continued. "Not that I care for his company as a human being, especially. I just have a bigger beef with his writing."

"Have you met him?" Em asked. "You talk like you have." She couldn't remember Frank saying anything about it before.

"Me? No. Well, maybe once. It was ... a book conference, I think. No, wait, it was Cheryl's party." Cheryl was Frank's agent. "As the hip kids used to say, he was 'a real square' for the whole evening. I think I only talked to him a couple of times, at most. He recognized me from my book, of course." Frank took a sip of coffee. "And we'd heard a little about each other through the literary grapevine, so to speak."

She wondered what he had heard, specifically. Was Doctor Ferris simply cashing in on a dating controversy by writing his book? She wanted to ask Frank what he wasn't telling her — she could read the clue in the twitching muscle of his jaw — but lacked the courage, strangely enough.

"All right. Back to work." Frank rolled on his stomach and lifted the pages from his elbow.

"Yes. Of course." Em stirred herself to the present conversation.

"Chapter seven is nothing but notes right now, so we're talking about a gutted building in need of walls. I can't find a good connection between it and chapter six ..."

"What about pairing each negative approach with a positive one? If you've already shown the downside of having a metro complex, show how best a secure and sincere metropolitan male can use his advantages. The cosmopolitan habits that women appreciate —"

"Hold on. I like that." Frank fished a blank sheet from his stack. "The wrong example/right example pairing." He was scribbling furiously on his sheet of paper.

"Instead of the metro male complex, it's like the metro male approach," said Em, absently, who had now lifted Doctor Colin Ferris's guide from the floor and was flipping through it. "I mean, think of all the advantages women appreciate when they meet a man with inside knowledge of local culture — art, food, music ... a humbled form of sophistication can charm women easily."

"I've got it from here, Em," he answered, his pencil traveling from one edge of the paper to the next.

It was a first edition, she noticed. The original cover had the author himself on it, in what she supposed was a 'confident and relaxed' pose. Seeing Doctor Ferris without his suit jacket actually made the illusion half-believable.

"... I could maybe move on to the curse of machoism in the dating man's approach. What do you think of that plan, Em?"

Frank's voice was only half-heard by Em momentarily as she flipped through the first chapter of Doctor Ferris's bestseller, attempting to form an impression of his work — and an explanation for how it became the number-one choice for readers of relationship guides.

At home, she flipped on her television and paged through her DVR's recordings of Psych Book Chat, a show she almost never watched, although she recorded it frequently in an attempt to keep up with modern self-help authors. There it was — episode 221, aired four months ago, featuring an exclusive with Doctor Colin Ferris.

"Tell us what this book truly says to the dating world, Colin."

He looked uncomfortable across from the host. Maybe more so than he had in the studio with Em, which meant this was probably one of his earliest interviews.

"It's simply a guide for men who feel inclined to avoid the modern trend of viewing all aspects of gender as stereotypes. A guide to navigating relationships with partners who may feel inclined to reject their advances of chivalry, at first."

"You're talking as if society is sexless, Colin. In the sense that we see no differences between men and women, except for, well, the all-important one."

The host laughed, but Colin didn't. "In some respects, we don't," he answered. "But it's not merely a book for men interested in pursuing a more traditional role in a relationship —"

"You mean, men pick up the check, women wear the high heels. Men are the breadwinners, women are —"

"I have said absolutely nothing of the kind. Not in this book or in person," Colin interrupted. "I'm not talking about how we view roles in a relationship, I'm talking about how we view and treat each other as different individuals, with different affirmations of respect being desired on a psychological, if not public, level of consciousness."

"Mmm. I'm sensing your background in teaching relationship dynamics." The host shifted tactics. "So when you say this book is about more, what are your really saying?"

"It's about personal strength and confidence in terms of the masculine psyche," answered Colin. He hesitated. "Confidence is essential on both sides for a relationship to succeed between two people. It's a form of masculine discipline to view women not only as equals, but as a distinct gender which deserves the same recognition and appreciation as the woman's individual accomplishments."

"You mean like the way we glorify a man's toughness — a Bond actor doing his own stunts, earning a few scars, for instance — or the way we celebrate an actor's sex appeal with a magazine cover."

Colin was evidently restless as he listened. "I prefer to consider it on a smaller level," he said. "Where we publicly observe, albeit begrudgingly, that more men than women prefer weightlifting and watching wrestling matches, and more women than men prefer ballet performances and pajama parties. Therefore, why is it wrong to admit that men desire their romantic partners to compliment them on their strength and thoughtfulness, and women enjoy being told they're beautiful or fascinating by their romantic partners? It might not be true in any of those cases, but the act is inspired by love or admiration for one's partner."

"Mmm..." said the host. He wasn't nodding — Em sensed he had some disagreement with Colin's remarks. She racked her brain for the host's name, recognizing him as some self-help guru a decade past. Hadn't he written a whole series of books on gender role reversal as a form of relationship freedom? If so, no wonder he looked less than enchanted.

"If that perception is framed by our affection for another, isn't it true that our perception of kindness and thoughtfulness towards the opposite gender can be shaped by perceiving all members of said gender as worthy of it?" asked Colin.

"But what does that really have to do with love?" persisted the host. "Come on, Colin. This sounds more like masculine self-indulgence. Does this have any real application for men who aren't trying to be an eighteenth-century gentleman to impress a woman's romantic sensibilities?"

Colin was not loving this host calling him by his first name. Em could see that much in his reaction.

"Cultivating this mindset isn't about asserting anything or anyone. It can be a mindset adopted as a weapon against self-loathing in the face of rejection, or a sense of inferiority. Or against bitterness. Loneliness, self-abasement ... the pains which plague both sexes after relationship failure, or a lifetime of poor self-image. Personal issues which lead to a hatred of self, or loathing of one's former partner, something which often casts all future partners in the same light."

"Being the bigger person, in other words," observed the host. "So there's a complimentary program of feminine discipline, I assume? Will that be your follow-up book? A Ladies' Guide to Modern Relationships with Old-Fashioned Techniques."

Colin looked taken aback. "I would have no idea," he answered, "whether there will be a 'follow-up' or not."

"Do you practice these theories yourself?" asked the host. "Does it come naturally, or was it a life-long process to view modern relationships through the past's telescopic lens?"

The narrow end, Em inserted, guessing the missing words implied by the host's sneer.

"I would never advocate anything I don't attempt to practice myself," Colin answered. His voice was steely.

"If men follow this guide, do you guarantee they'll see an improvement in self-confidence? In their relationships with the opposite sex? In finding the positive in a bad relationship?"

"I think no one can guarantee love in this world. We have only the hope for it, and the control of ourselves to determine what one-half its outcome will be."

"Well, this book has generated any number of discussions, good and bad, from both sides of the gender issue, which brings us to —" The host's voice was cut off as Em switched off the television.

There was something in Colin's voice she couldn't quite put her finger on, especially when he spoke of self-abasement and social inferiority. But what she heard in his voice was likely nervousness. She couldn't help but notice that he loosened his tie in the middle of the interview.

Snuggled beneath the covers, she attempted to begin Relationship Realities from page one, trying not to hear Frank's mocking voice reading aloud the preface's words. But within ten minutes, between the connotations of history and the modern studies on romance being cited, she was ready to declare the matter as hopeless as Frank stated. Doctor Ferris's dry introduction made it astonishing that his fans — and critics — made it to the rest of the book, she thought. Before she reached the first chapter's heading, she was asleep against her pillows, the book between her hands.