The Marriage Book (58 page)

Read The Marriage Book Online

Authors: Lisa Grunwald,Stephen Adler

Tags: #Family & Relationships, #Marriage & Long Term Relationships, #General, #Literary Collections

A lady came into our store the other day and asked whether we carried in stock “rings for married men.” The question surprised me, and the lady continued: “Is there nothing in the line of rings for gentlemen to wear that would indicate that they are married? If not, there ought to be. As soon as a lady is married custom requires that she wear a ring of prescribed form, which is in the nature of a badge. It signifies ‘hands off,’ or ‘taken.’ A man is not required to wear any such insignia of his estate. If they did, perhaps there would not be so many wounded hearts lying around. When a gentleman approached a lady she could readily determine whether or not he is in or out of the matrimonial market and demean herself accordingly. Such a custom would put an end to the male married flirt in society, who has a wife who is rarely heard of.”

HARRIET LANE

THE BOOK OF CULTURE
, 1922

Though the De Beers company, with its virtual monopoly on the world’s diamonds, is often blamed (or credited) with making the diamond engagement ring seem a necessity before marriage in the late 1930s, the Sears, Roebuck catalogue had offered them as far back as the late nineteenth century. But in this 1922 manual of etiquette, it was clear that they were not yet the only acceptable choice.

With regard to the engagement ring, finest and most considerate courtesy demands that the suitor consult the girl’s taste and not his own in its selection. He may, however, buy the ring without consulting her if he sees fit. All precious stones have their meanings: the diamond, which symbolizes purity and perfection, is a most graceful tribute to the bride-to-be; and so is the sapphire, the blue stone of perfect faith and trustfulness. The ruby is a token of the giver’s passion, his ardent love for the one to whom it is given; but pearls, emblems of tears, and the opal, the stone of ill luck, are to be avoided.

WILLIAM MANCHESTER

THE DEATH OF A PRESIDENT
, 1967

Author of a favorable 1964 book about John F. Kennedy’s first year and a half in office, historian William Manchester (1922–2004) was commissioned by the president’s widow and brother Robert to pen the official account of the assassination. Tracing the paths of Lee Harvey Oswald and Kennedy before the shooting, Manchester re-created the events of November 22, 1963, in dramatic detail, including this moment in the emergency room at Parkland Memorial Hospital.

Despite objections from the Kennedy camp before publication, and continuing controversy about accuracy afterwards, the book became Manchester’s bestselling work. Vernon O’Neal (Manchester had it as “Oneal”) was the funeral director who came to the hospital. He said later that he, and not an orderly, had been the one to place Jackie’s ring on JFK’s finger. Patrick was the Kennedy son who had died within days of being born. Kenny O’Donnell was White House appointments secretary, had organized the Dallas visit, and was in the motorcade, directly behind the president’s car, when the shooting took place. Sergeant Robert Dugger was the ranking police officer at the hospital.

[Mrs. Kennedy] was right behind Oneal. Crossing the passage, she continued to ponder what she could put with the President, and she had the odd feeling of reliving a moment in her own past. She remembered: it had been at her father’s funeral. That had been the first time she had seen anyone dead, and she had been heartbroken. That day she had been wearing a bracelet; it was a graduation present from him. He had been so proud of her the day he had given it to her, and standing by his coffin she had unfastened it on impulse and placed it in his hand. She wanted to do the same thing now. But what could it be? Until this summer he had carried a St. Christopher medal, fashioned as a bill clip. She had given it to him when they were married, and it would have been appropriate now. It wasn’t here, however. They had put it in the little coffin with Patrick. Afterward the President had asked her for another one, so on their tenth wedding anniversary, when he had presented her with a slim ring set with green emerald chips, she had given him a medal of gold. It would be here in his billfold; Kenny or one of the nurses could find it. Then she changed her mind. The new St. Christopher’s, she decided, would be wrong. It was only two months old. It hadn’t been with him long enough to be really a part of him. Besides, it was his, not hers. It already belonged to him. It couldn’t be a gift twice.

Suddenly she thought of her wedding ring. Nothing had ever meant so much to her. Its very plainness made it dear. Unlike the circlet set with emeralds, it was unadorned. It was, in fact, a man’s wedding band. The President had bought it in a hurry in Newport just before their wedding. There hadn’t even been time to put the date in; she had taken it to a jeweler and had that done later. The ring would be exactly right—provided she could get it off. She attempted to unfasten the left glove and couldn’t even work the snap.

They were inside the room now. Apart from the disinfectant and the blistering artificial light overhead, the place was much altered; it was nearly immaculate and almost empty. The audience of a half-hour ago had dispersed. Oneal was there, leaning over his burnished coffin, adjusting it on its truck. O’Donnell stood in the doorway. Sergeant Dugger had followed her across the threshold. He looked competent, and drawing herself up she held her wrist toward him. He understood. He found the snap with his thumbnail and unpeeled the glove.

She moved to the President’s side and lifted his hand. An orderly succeeded in working the ring over Kennedy’s knuckle with cream, and she looked down tenderly. She yearned to be alone with him. If only these people would go away. They would never leave her, of course; she knew that. They would be frightened for her and of what she might do, terrified of unspoken and nameless perils. To ask them would only upset them, so she withdrew in silence. In the passage she asked Ken, “The ring. Did I do the right thing?”

He said, “You leave it right where it is.”

DEBRA WINGER

ESQUIRE
INTERVIEW, 1986

Talented, temperamental, Method-driven, Oscar-nominated actress Debra Winger (1955–) married actor Timothy Hutton in 1986.

Winger and Hutton divorced in 1990; she has been married to director Arliss Howard since 1996.

I will say, candidly, that the sexiest thing in the world is to be totally naked with your wedding band on.

S

SECOND MARRIAGES

YIDDISH PROVERB

When two divorced people marry, four people get into bed.

WILLIAM PAINTER

“MARRIAGE OF WIDOW AND WIDOWER,” 1566

For the three volumes that eventually comprised
The Palace of Pleasure
, William Painter (circa 1540–1594) translated and anthologized stories from Italy and France that became the basis for numerous Elizabethan plays, including several of Shakespeare’s. In his tale of a man who had been married twenty times and a woman twenty-two, Painter questioned whether even twice was one time too many.

I woulde wishe all my frendes that be widowes, to folow the noble Romaine matrone and widowe called Annia, who (when her frendes and familiers exhorted her to marie againe, because She was yong and beautifull) aunswered that she would not. “For,” quoth she, “if it be my fortune to have a good husband, as I had before, I shall still be afraied, lest death should take
him away: but if it be my chaunce to matche with one that is evill, howe can I be able quietly to beare that, having had so good a husbande before.” Declaringe thereby, that being ones well matched, great heede ought to be taken, how to chose the nexte, leaste in making hastie choise, leasure for repentaunce should follow.

NOËL COWARD

PRIVATE LIVES
, 1930

Sir Noël Coward (1899–1973) was a playwright, actor, director, songwriter, and filmmaker, known in every sphere for his worldly wit. In
Private Lives
, one of his best-known comedies, he introduces us to Elyot and Amanda, a divorced couple each of whom happens to be honeymooning with a new spouse (Sibyl is Elyot’s bride) in adjoining hotel rooms.

 

SIBYL:

Are you glad you married me?

ELYOT:

Of course I am.

SIBYL:

How glad?

ELYOT:

Incredibly, magnificently glad.

SIBYL:

How lovely.

ELYOT:

We ought to go in and dress.

SIBYL:

Gladder than before?

ELYOT:

Why do you keep harping on that?

SIBYL:

It’s in my mind, and yours too, I expect.

ELYOT:

It isn’t anything of the sort.

SIBYL:

She was pretty, wasn’t she? Amanda?

ELYOT:

Very pretty.

SIBYL:

Prettier than I am?

ELYOT:

Much.

SIBYL:

Elyot!

ELYOT:

She was pretty and sleek, and her hands were long and slim, and her legs were long and slim, and she danced like an angel. You dance very poorly, by the way.

SIBYL:

Could she play the piano as well as I can?

ELYOT:

She couldn’t play the piano at all.

SIBYL:

(Triumphantly)
Aha! Had she my talent for organisation?

ELYOT:

No, but she hadn’t your mother either.

SIBYL:

I don’t believe you like mother.

ELYOT:

Like her! I can’t bear her.

SIBYL:

Elyot! She’s a darling, underneath.

ELYOT:

I never got underneath.

SIBYL:

It makes me unhappy to think you don’t like mother.

ELYOT:

Nonsense. I believe the only reason you married me was to get away from her.

SIBYL:

I married you because I loved you.

ELYOT:

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

SIBYL:

I love you far more than Amanda loved you. I’d never make you miserable like she did.

ELYOT:

We made each other miserable.

SIBYL:

It was all her fault, you know it was.

ELYOT:

(With vehemence)
Yes, it was. Entirely her fault.

SIBYL:

She was a fool to lose you.

ELYOT:

We lost each other.

SIBYL:

She lost you, with her violent tempers and carryings on.

ELYOT:

Will you stop talking about Amanda?

SIBYL:

But I’m very glad, because if she hadn’t been uncontrolled, and wicked, and unfaithful, we shouldn’t be here now.

ELYOT:

She wasn’t unfaithful.

SIBYL:

How do you know? I bet she was. I bet she was unfaithful every five minutes.

ELYOT:

It would take a far more concentrated woman than Amanda to be unfaithful every five minutes.

SIBYL:

(Anxiously)
You do hate her, don’t you?

ELYOT:

No, I don’t hate her. I think I despise her.

SIBYL:

(With satisfaction)
That’s much worse.

ELYOT:

And yet I’m sorry for her.

SIBYL:

Why?

ELYOT:

Because she’s marked for tragedy; she’s bound to make a mess of everything.

SIBYL:

If it’s all her fault, I don’t see that it matters much.

ELYOT:

She has some very good qualities.

SIBYL:

Considering what a hell she made of your life, I think you are very nice about her. Most men would be vindictive.

ELYOT:

What’s the use of that? It’s all over now, such a long time ago.

SIBYL:

Five years isn’t very long.

ELYOT:

(Seriously)
Yes it is.

SIBYL:

Do you think you could ever love her again?

ELYOT:

Now then, Sibyl.

SIBYL:

But could you?

ELYOT:

Of course not, I love you.

SIBYL:

Yes, but you love me differently; I know that.

ELYOT:

More wisely perhaps. . . .

SIBYL:

. . . I should think you needed a little quiet womanliness after Amanda.

ELYOT:

Why will you keep on talking about her?

SIBYL:

It’s natural enough, isn’t it?

ELYOT:

What do you want to find out?

SIBYL:

Why did you really let her divorce you?

ELYOT:

She divorced me for cruelty, and flagrant infidelity. I spent a whole week-end at Brighton with a lady called Vera Williams. She had the nastiest looking hair brush I have ever seen.

SIBYL:

Misplaced chivalry, I call it. Why didn’t you divorce her?

ELYOT:

It would not have been the action of a gentleman, whatever that may mean.

SIBYL:

I think she got off very lightly.

ELYOT:

Once and for all will you stop talking about her.

SIBYL:

Yes, Elli dear.

ELYOT:

I don’t wish to see her again or hear her name mentioned.

SIBYL:

Very well, darling.

ELYOT:

Is that understood?

SIBYL:

Yes, darling. Where did you spend your honeymoon?

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