Cinderella

Billie laughed and said bitterly, "She's an aging slut." I kept my mouth shut.

Billie continued with, "Mom would leave us by ourselves to go out to bars. I was eight. So, I more-or-less raised my two siblings." She paused and added wryly, "Needless to say, that restricted my social life. But it also made me want my own babies."

She added, "I was planning on going to Waukesha Tech after I graduated. I'd been saving my entire teenagerhood and I did very well in school. So, I had a scholarship. But Brad hit on me that summer, while I was grocery shopping, and I was lost. I was eighteen. He was twenty-six."

She added with regret in her voice, "He was just so good-looking and persistent. I finally gave him my virginity. Once I did that my direction was set."

I must have looked perplexed. She said like it explained everything, "I'm Catholic." I still looked puzzled, so she added," I found the church by myself. I needed something spiritual." I still didn't get it, but I was a lot more rationalist than religious -- probably something in the dogma.

She continued with, "I truly believed that I had to marry Brad because I'd had sex with him. But mainly it was my mother who pushed me into marriage." Billie paused and looked sad, "I think she wanted to get rid of me."

This was starting to sound more like Snow White than Cinderella. I could see the problem. Her mother couldn't deal with her daughter's emerging beauty. She had to be the "fairest of them all."

Billie said, "Brad and I were happy for a while. But Allison came along and then there was Ronald and Brad just couldn't take the chaos of raising children. So, he was out of the house a lot."

I said, "What was he doing?"

She said, "At first, he was just hanging around with his buddies drinking. But he'd always come home and get up at five AM to start his chores. Then he began to stay out all night and he'd show up here at the usual hour."

Oh-oh... I gave her a meaningful glance. She grimaced and said, "I realized what the bastard was up to. I ignored it for as long as I could but everybody in town knew that he was living with Linda Schulte. She didn't have kids."

Billie looked sad. Then she said furious, "I had him served at her apartment."

I said sympathetically, "That must have been tough. You aren't a farmer. How did you survive?"

She said, "Well, it's only been four months and I've done what I had to do to support my children. I took the waitressing job because it was available. I work double shifts and I've been doing sewing on the side. We've managed to scrape by so far. I don't know how long I can keep it up though. It's frightening,"

I had a solution for her. But that was up the road, after my trip. I said questioningly, "Your ex must be paying a substantial amount of child support though, isn't he?"

She laughed bitterly and said very matter-of-fact, "His family is well connected in this area, and his aunt runs the local Friend-of-the Court office. What do you think?"

I said astounded, "You're doing this on your own!!?"

Billie made a sad face and said, "What choice do I have?"

We drove in silence for a while. I thought to myself, "That explains it. She might be a world-class beauty. But she's a single mom with two kids whose focus is on day-to-day survival. She's got absolutely no friends, no education, or any real experience. Yet, she's hanging on grimly, without a word of complaint."

I admired Billie's courage. But more importantly, I could see that a woman of enormous personal strength was lurking behind that wonderful face and figure. If there was ever any hesitation about what I had to do next, that made up my mind.

Once we were seated and the denizens of the restaurant had stopped craning their necks I said, "How did you learn to paint like that?"

She gave a self-deprecating little laugh and said, "I just dabble. I've always been interested in art." That was an understatement. If depth and complexity of color were any criteria, the two paintings in her little living room should have been hanging in the Guggenheim.

I looked at her across the table. She was studying the menu while chewing on her lip. I said, "Do you want me to order for both of us?" She glanced at me gratefully and said, "I've never been in a place like this. Brad said that these kinds of restaurants were for rich losers."

I ordered the sushi-grade seared scallops for her and the pancetta for myself. Hers was a simple dish, easy to navigate. I also got a good bottle of Chenin Blanc.

Billie's native intelligence let her quickly adapt to the situation. So, although she had never been in a fancy place like this, she seemed right at home by the time the sommelier appeared with the wine. We talked as we ate, and the comfortable give-and-take felt like we had been together forever.

Then I remembered that she had acted just as relaxed when she first met Marvin and my green-eyed monster reared its ugly head. I told myself not to be such an immature jerk. That was the past. This was the present. Honestly!! I needed to get over myself.

Compatible is a lazy and subjective word but that's the way it was that magical evening. It was a strange phenomenon. It probably had something to do with our similar qualities and values. But by the time I'd paid the bill we were wrapped in a cocoon of intimacy that we both could sense.

There were public benches outside the restaurant, along the lakeshore. Billie took my hand as we walked over to watch the moonrise in the soft July night. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I looked at her lovely face and she appeared to be as puzzled as I was by our easy familiarity.

I had to say it, "I know that this is really just a first date and that we have an odd history. But I've never felt more comfortable with a person in my life."

She gave me a sexy little sideways glance from underneath her bangs and said simply, "Me neither."

She added quietly, but with a lot of underlying emotion, "So where do we go from here?"

I said, "I get on a flight to Heathrow at nine tomorrow morning. I've always looked forward to this trip. But NOW, my only interest is in building a relationship with you. So, this month-long hiatus is very scary and frustrating. I don't want some other guy scooping you up while I'm gone."

I was baiting a trap. I knew about Leon, and I was wondering what she would tell me. Her huge eyes got as big as the full moon rising in front of us. She said gravely, "There's something that I need to tell you."

I thought, "Oh shit!! Here it comes!!"

She stared at me for a moment, like she was appraising me, and then said shamefaced, "I've been seeing a man. He's a lot like Brad, big, crude, and aggressive. It's just sex like your situation was with Skipper. But he's married."

I think my misery was reflected in my face because she quickly added, "I've only been with two men since my divorce, Marvin, and him. You know about Marvin. So, I wanted to tell you about him too, just to lay all of my cards out on the table."

I knew the story already. But it still killed me to hear it. At least Billie was up-front about it. I was starting to trust her. She'd made an irrefutable point though. Sex is part of living and she was a healthy adult woman. Naturally, she'd take advantage of a hunka-hunka-burnin-love if he came knocking at her door.

For my sanity's sake, I wanted to tell her to dump the guy. But the reality was that we were only on a first date, and I was about to swan off to Europe for a month. I wasn't THAT delusional. Still, the idea of Billie banging the adulterer next door while I was in London sent me into fits of jealous frustration.

Nevertheless, what could I do? It was too early in the relationship to start laying down rules about exclusivity. My God!! What an emotional mess!!

Billie read my look and said gently. "Honestly, my relationship with that other man has weighed on my conscience from the start. I think that you and I have something here. So, I will promise you this. I will break it off with him and be exclusively yours if you can guarantee the same thing."

I laughed. Was that relief in my voice? I said, "As far as I'm concerned it will only EVER be you." She gave me the sweetest kiss and said shyly, "Me too."

*****

My room at the college was in a dorm overlooking the Royal Albert Hall. It was right on the plaza so people attending the BBC Proms in the summer kept me awake smoking and talking underneath my window. Normally I'd be at those events. But I had happier prospects now, and so I was just serving my time until I could get back to the bright new future that I had in front of me.

The enforced distance helped me think about my life in a broader context. In retrospect, I was painfully aware of the total lack of empathy that I'd shown for Skipper and all the other women I'd been with. It was never anything but "just sex" with them.

But then again, is there ever such a thing as, "just sex?" I mean, unless you're a total psychopath, you don't fuck somebody without getting a sense of their otherness, the noises they make, how they hold themselves. But what about their distinctive inner self, their individual hopes and desires, their fears, and aspirations? What did I know about those?

I had no idea how any of those women felt about life. But they all must have had dreams. It reminded me how naive and egocentric I'd been. On the other hand, I truly sensed Billie's innate self. That's the distinction that being in love makes for a guy.

I felt the anxieties of a little girl growing up with the duties she had. I could sense her loving soul as she cared for her siblings. I could understand her longing and disappointment at not being able to lead the normal life of a teenager. And I could see her joy and eventual disillusionment as her marriage fell apart. More importantly, I understood what had made her into the person she was today.

My ability to walk a mile in Billie's shoes was how I'd come to understand what loving somebody was all about. Now, my first thought wasn't about the way something would affect ME. It was how it would impact US. Billie and I could face life together because we shared a common understanding.

The sense of our shared humanity made my past selfish ideas about life and love look shallow and short-sighted. Now, I could see that life with another person makes you exponentially stronger. It gives you a partner you can trust and share things with and a cheerleader to encourage you. More importantly, you have somebody who's willing to face the challenges of life with you.

I think about Arctic Bison when I imagine the ideal marriage. Whoa!! Now THAT's a bizarre analogy. I mean, what do a couple of thousand-pound herbivores have to do with life in suburbia?

Well -- a bison's natural predator is the wolf. So, how do two bison fight a wolfpack?

Wolves always attack from behind. I mean seriously!! No wolf is going to challenge an animal that big and lethal head-on. So, each bison stands back-to-back horns pointed out at the encircling threat, protecting itself by protecting its partner.

Obviously, the two beasts have to have absolute faith in each other's commitment to work in close harmony and stay united. But you'll go a long way in life if you can find another human being who is willing to make that stand with you.

Hence, Billie might be a head-turner on the surface, but that was the least of her appeal to me. I knew that she was the one I would face the wolves with.

We wrote to each other off-and-on. But I was busy, and it was obvious that letter writing was not Billie's forte. The woman I knew was smart and perceptive. But Billie had had just a minimal high school education and that was ten years previous. So, I got a couple of awkward letters in her childlike scrawl full of spelling errors and malaprops. I treasured every one of them.

Our primary means of communication was an overseas phone call. Every Monday and Friday I'd finish off class and head for the student union across the quadrangle. I'd grab a couple of pints and some pub food and read the Evening Standard from back to front. English newspapers have their sports section at the rear, and I was a Chelsea supporter.

I had to kill time because Billie worked a split shift, lunches, and dinners. So, her only window of availability was around four o'clock in the afternoon, which was 10 PM my time. That was before cellphones were common. So, in the late evening, I'd stroll down to the payphones along Queens Gate Road with a stack of coins.

Billie always sounded eager and a bit sad when she answered. I understood because I felt the same way. There was no time for deep conversation. That would be far too expensive. We just wanted to keep the flame burning. It was pitiful how needy we'd both become.

Then one dark Friday, her mother answered. I was disappointed. But there had been a few other times when Billie was called into work or had something crop up.

Her mother was as hostile as ever, it had been obvious from the beginning that she was envious of her daughter. I said cheerily, "Hi, I was just giving Billie my usual Friday call."

Her mother said, coldly, like she was passing along a message, "She's on a date."

The meteor that ended the dinosaurs didn't hit as catastrophically as those four words. I thought I'd misunderstood her. So, I said, "Excuse me. I don't think I heard that right."

The mother said irritated, "I just told you. She's out with a guy tonight, call back some other time." And she hung up on me.

Out on a date... well THAT was a kick in the nuts!! I actually sorta knew that it was too good to be true. I stood there for an embarrassingly long period staring dumbly at a dead receiver. Finally, I staggered over to a bench, where I slumped down and put my head in my hands.

It was my nightmare scenario, the one that I'd spent a lifetime trying to avoid. I'd been sure that Billie was my safe harbor. Well, I'd certainly fucked THAT up. My mind shattered into three distinct pieces, all of whom were yelling recriminations at each other.

The practical me slapped me upside the head and said, "No shit! You asshole. You had one date with the woman and laid your heart on the line based on WHAT??!! You're a pathetic loser."

The cynical part, the one I'd always suspected was my true self, sneered and said, "You trusted her stupid!! How many times do I have to tell you that there's no such thing as a happy ending, or for that matter love at first sight? That's all just bodice-ripper trash."

Then the other part, the infantile one that I'm not proud of, yelled, "Shut the fuck up, both of you!! Women are just cunts. Never trust a bitch. They're all liars."

That argument raged on as I sat there in the London night, the sound of traffic and diesel fumes enfolding me. I finally rose and dragged myself painfully back up Queen's Gate to Prince Consort Road and my dorm room bed. I lay on my back in the dark, hands clasped behind my head, and tried to work out what to do.

All I actually knew was that Billie went somewhere with a guy. That in-and-of-itself wasn't really a violation of our exclusivity agreement. I mean, I spent every day with female students and quite a few evenings with women colleagues., which had been the source of "stimulating" times on prior visits.

Those conditions hadn't changed. It was only my agreement to behave that had prevented any current shenanigans. Yet, Billie going out with another fellow sounded very suspicious.

The trouble with romance is that its emotions cloud your situational awareness. Maybe my thinking was colored by the fact that she'd been fucking the guy next door. But I knew what Billie's life was like. It was work and childcare, not late afternoon excursions with men.

It had been a tough battle for me to hold the moral high ground for three weeks and a girl has needs. But I knew that I wouldn't be understanding If Billie'd fallen. The logical thing to do would be to talk to her. But that wasn't going to happen. She was six time zones behind me. I drifted off to sleep with my mind in turmoil. It was never supposed to be like this.

The next day was a Saturday. Oddly enough, I had tickets to watch the San Francisco 49ers play the Washington Redskins. I hear you asking really??!... Well, the NFL was just starting to market to the Brits, and they were playing a pre-season game in London.

It was an overcast Saturday, great for football, not so great for my mood. I was making my way out of the quadrangle, past the porter's office, when one of them flagged me down and said, "A call came in for you late last night. Here's the message."

The guy handed me one of those ubiquitous pink message slips, which I absentmindedly stuffed in my backpack. Whatever it was - it could wait. I already had too much going on in my battered brain.

I walked down to the Gloucester Road Underground stop and took the Piccadilly up to the Jubilee at Green Park and was at Wembley a mere forty minutes later -- easy, cheap, fast.

The Brits were still getting used to real football so most of the crowd, was gathered around the end zones, where the goals usually are. As a result, I had a prime seat on the fifty-yard line.

I'm from Wisconsin but I hate the Cheeseheads, and the 49ers are just too effete. But I'd spent enough time in Sodom-and-Gomorrah-upon-the-Potomac that I felt like I qualified for a Redskins jersey. Consequently, I was proudly wearing the burgundy and gold with "7" "Theismann" on the back. I knew it was eons out-of-date, but it was cheap.

Two unanswered touchdowns and a pick-six later I was stuffing the jersey into my backpack to hide my shame. That was when the message fell out. Curious, I picked it up. It said, "CALL ME ANY TIME." There was no call-back number. I didn't need one.

I grabbed the backpack and streaked for the exit. The usher at the gate stopped me and said, "You can't leave this way, sir."

I said, "I'm a doctor and I have to make an emergency call." Well, I AM a doctor, just not the rich type, and this was definitely an emergency. He stepped aside.

There was a phone box across the street from the stadium gate. I didn't have much change, so I ducked into the offy next door and gave the nice Pakistani gentleman ten pounds for eight pounds worth of silver. I didn't want to run out of coins in the middle of the conversation.

Then I dashed back out and dialed. It was seven o'clock in the morning in Wisconsin. There were the usual squeaks, pops, and clicks and I heard the ring. The phone was snatched up like the person on the other end had been sleeping on it. I heard her voice say eagerly, "Hello?"

I said, "It's me. I got your message." She burst into tears. There was a minute or so of crying while I fed half-crowns into the slot -- WOMEN!!

Billie sniffled, "My mother told me what she did. She even laughed about it. She told me that you fell for it hook-line-and-sinker. She wants me to be as unhappy as she is. Please let me prove that I was at work. Peter will attest to it." Peter was her boss, "And I can show you my time card.

Then there was a pause and she said in a strangled voice like she didn't know how I'd react, "I love you and I'll always love you. I'll be yours forever if you'll have me."

Do I hear an amen and a hallelujah brothers, and sisters??!! I believed her. Hell yes, I did!! Poke Salad Annie's mom comes to mind when I think of Billie's mother, "A wretched, spiteful, straight razor totin woman - Lord have mercy."

Yet, it was the tone of Billie's voice that absolutely convinced me. It was obvious that her confession of love came out of a profound fear of losing me. So, in effect, no matter how much temporary heartbreak her ghastly mom had caused, she'd gotten me the one thing I most deeply desired.