The Pleasure of M (17 page)

“Maybe
 it
 does…”
 

“Well
 that’s
 your
 Catholic
 guilt
 talking.
 For
 you
 guys,
 it’s
 OK
 to
 sin
 as
 long
 as
 you
 get
 
punished
 for
 it.
 But
 for
 him,
 there
 is
 no
 free
 pass.
 That’s
 all
 he
 is
 saying.
 He
 knows
 
what
 he’s
 doing
 and
 he
 accepts
 his
 responsibility,
 but
 it
 doesn’t
 define
 him,
 that’s
 all.
 
But
 I
 guess
 it
 does
 mean
 that
 he
 thinks
 it’s
 not
 wrong.”
 

“There,
  you’re
  right.
  He
  is
  way
  too
  self-‐assured
  to
  think
  anything
  he
  is
  doing
  is
 
wrong.”
 

 

“And
 you
 constantly
 doubt
 the
 value
 of
 everything
 that
 you
 do!”
 

“OK,
 you
 have
 a
 point.
 I
 don’t
 know
 what
 it
 is
 that
 bothers
 me.
 
 It’s
 just
 that
 we’ll
 be
 
talking
 and
 I’m
 having
 a
 good
 time
 and
 all
 that,
 and
 then
 he’ll
 say
 something
 that
 just
 
throws
  me
  off
  completely.
  It’s
  like,
  here
  I
  am
  in
  my
  little
  daydream,
  and
  we’re
 
escaping
 to
 far-‐away
 places
 and
 having
 sex
 on
 the
 beach,
 and
 visiting
 beautiful
 cities
 
I’ve
  never
  seen,
  and
  then
  suddenly
  he
  says
  something
  that
  really
  drags
  me
  back
 
down
 and
 then
 I
 don’t
 know
 what’s
 going
 on
 anymore.”
 

“Like
 that
 he’s
 not
 your
 type?”
 
“Yes,
 exactly!
 Now
 what
 is
 that
 supposed
 to
 mean?
 That
 we
 shouldn’t
 be
 together?”
 

“Oh,
 don’t
 be
 silly!
 It
 means
 exactly
 the
 opposite,
 as
 far
 as
 I’m
 concerned.
 You
 want
 
to
 know
 the
 truth?
 My
 husband
 
is
 my
 type,
 and
 guess
 what,
 it’s
 a
 nightmare
 that
 I
 
can’t
  get
  out
  of.
  And
  you
  know
  what
  more?
  Maybe
  there’s
  a
  lesson
  here
  for
  me.
 
Maybe
  your
  lover
  is
  trying
  to
  tell
  we
  to
  stop
  looking
  around
  for
  something
  that
 
doesn’t
  mean
  anything,
  “
my
  type
  of
  guy
”,
  and
  that
  maybe
  the
  answer
  to
  my
 
persistent
 questions
 are
 right
 under
 my
 nose.
 I
 mean
 don’t
 you
 think
 that
 at
 my
 age
 I
 
should
 be
 able
 to
 go
 a
 little
 bit
 beyond
 physical
 attraction
 when
 looking
 for
 a
 mate?”
 

“Well,
 Liz,
 I
 can’t
 disagree
 there…
 that
 last
 guy
 you
 ‘dated’
 was
 a
 disaster.”
 
“Thanks
 for
 reminding
 me!
 God
 what
 a
 creep!
 Football,
 beer
 and
 sex,
 in
 that
 order.
 
My
  husband
  goes
  away
  for
  a
  month
  and
  all
  I
  can
  get
  is
  white
  trash.
  And
  you
  get
  a
 
pleasure
 seeking
 Frenchman,
 suave
 beyond
 belief
 who
 won’t
 lie
 to
 you
 or
 himself
 to
 
save
  his
  life…
  Geez
  Louise!
  You
  know
  what?
  You’re
  afraid
  of
  yourself,
  that’s
  what
 
this
 is.
 If
 I
 were
 you,
 I’d
 be
 on
 a
 plane
 to
 L.A.
 right
 now!”
 

“You’ve
 always
 been
 reckless.
 That
 would
 just
 ruin
 it.”
 
“So
 you
 admit
 that
 this
 is
 important
 to
 you?”
 
“Of
 course
 it
 is.
 If
 it
 wasn’t,
 it
 wouldn’t
 torture
 me
 like
 this.”
 
“Torture?”
 
“Well,
 maybe
 not
 torture.
 I’m
 just
 not
 sure
 where
 this
 is
 going.”
 

“You
 don’t
 need
 to
 know
 where
 this
 is
 going.
 You
 don’t
 need
 to
 be
 in
 control.
 Maybe
 
that’s
 what
 the
 problem
 is:
 you
 don’t
 feel
 in
 control
 and
 that’s
 what
 frightens
 you.”
 
“You
 think
 I’m
 a
 control
 freak?”
 

“Well,
 a
 little
 bit.
 You
 meet
 someone,
 you
 want
 to
 get
 to
 know
 them,
 and
 that’s
 what
 
the
 two
 of
 you
 have
 been
 doing.
 But
 then
 you
 start
 to
 worry
 about
 how
 much
 you
 
can
 know
 someone.
 That’s
 you
 trying
 to
 put
 the
 breaks
 on
 things
 because
 you
 think
 
you
 are
 losing
 control.”
 

“Well,
 maybe
 I
 am
 losing
 control.
 I’ve
 told
 him
 things
 that
 I’ve
 never
 told
 anyone
 else
 
before.
 He
 knows
 some
 of
 the
 most
 intimate
 things
 about
 me.”
 

 

“And
 you
 know
 things
 about
 him.”
 

 

“That’s
 true.
 He’s
 told
 me
 more
 about
 himself
 than
 I
 can
 believe,
 sometimes,
 to
 the
 
point
 where
 I
 now
 understand
 things
 about
 my
 husband
 that
 I
 never
 suspected.”
 

“So
 you
 see?
 It’s
 a
 two
 way
 street.
 But
 in
 the
 end,
 he’s
 a
 man.
 You
 can’t
 idealize
 him
 
too
 much,
 even
 though
 I
 realize
 that
 you’ve
 never
 met.
 He’s
 got
 warts,
 like
 they
 all
 
do.
 You
 can’t
 want
 him
 to
 be
 perfect.”
 

“Yes
 I
 can!”
 exclaimed
 Catherine,
 and
 they
 both
 laughed
 without
 restraint.
 
“But
 then
 he
 really
 would
 be
 too
 good
 to
 be
 true”
 Liz
 opined.
 

“He
 already
 is
 too
 good
 to
 be
 true.
 And
 I
 guess
 what
 I’m
 really
 afraid
 of
 is
 that
 it’s
 not
 
true.”
 

 

“Well,
 I
 don’t
 think
 you
 can
 invent
 a
 guy
 like
 Michel
 on
 the
 fly.
 Well,
 
you
 can,
 but
 a
 
guy
 can’t.”
 

 

“You’re
 right”
 Catherine
 beamed,
 “if
 anyone
 invented
 Michel,
 I
 did!”
 

Catherine
 eventually
 came
 to
 grips
 with
 the
 contradiction
 with
 which
 she
 had
 been
 
painting
 Michel
 into
 a
 corner.
 She
 was
 using
 his
 very
 honesty
 to
 doubt
 his
 sincerity.
 
She
 knew
 Michel
 and
 knew
 him
 well.
 She
 was
 not
 afraid
 of
 not
 knowing
 him
 but
 of
 
knowing
 him
 too
 much,
 of
 finding
 out
 what
 she
 disliked
 about
 him,
 about
 his
 warts
 
as
 Liz
 had
 put
 it.
 She
 had
 been
 so
 delighted
 when
 he
 had
 promised
 her
 that
 he
 would
 
always
  be
  able
  to
  surprise
  her,
  and
  here
  she
  was,
  afraid
  of
  surprises.
  As
  the
  day
 
wore
 on,
 she
 came
 to
 a
 better
 understanding
 of
 what
 Michel
 had
 said,
 realizing
 that
 
what
  had
  brought
  them
  together
  was
  not
  outward
  appearances,
  nor
  preconceived
 
ideas
  of
  physical
  or
  inner
  beauty.
  Such
  things
  can
  be
  obstacles
  to
  the
  pursuit
  of
 
happiness,
  obstacles
  to
  being
  open
  to
  the
  possibilities
  of
  life.
  That
  they
  were
  not
 
each
  other’s
  type
  simply
  meant
  that
  their
  relationship
  was
  based
  on
  something
 
other
  than
  the
  superficial
  notions
  that
  so
  often
  encumber
  our
  minds.
  Their
 
relationship
 
was
 
based
 
on
 
pleasure,
 
its
 
experience,
 
its
 
pursuit,
 
and
 
its
 
understanding.
 

When
  Catherine
  next
  returned
  to
  her
  email,
  a
  short
  message
  from
  Michel
  awaited
 
her:
 
 

 

“Dear
 Catherine,
 

I
 have
 upset
 you
 and
 had
 not
 meant
 to.
 I
 apologize.
 This
 has
 caused
 me
 great
 pain
 of
 
my
 own
 and
 raises
 many
 doubts
 in
 my
 mind
 as
 to
 what
 we
 are
 doing,
 or
 rather
 what
 
I
 am
 doing
 to
 you.
 It
 seems
 that
 I
 failed
 you
 in
 more
 than
 one
 way
 of
 late.
 I
 cannot
 
willingly
 be
 the
 cause
 of
 such
 anguish.
 I
 would
 like
 to
 believe
 that
 I
 have
 given
 you
 
pleasure
 in
 sufficient
 measure
 to
 compensate
 for
 the
 suffering
 I
 have
 caused.
 I
 wish
 I
 
could
 have
 called
 you
 today.
 Yours,
 

Michel”
 

She
  thought
  long
  and
  hard
  about
  how
  to
  answer,
  feeling
  that
  they
  had
  come
  to
  a
 
turn
  in
  the
  road
  which
  gave
  her
  an
  opportunity
  to
  reevaluate
  their
  affair.
  But
  her
 
conversation
  with
  Liz
  had
  reaffirmed
  in
  Catherine
  the
  reasons
  for
  which
  she
  had
 
engaged
  with
  Michel
  in
  the
  first
  place,
  and
  while
  she
  now
  better
  understood
  the
 
necessary
 precariousness
 of
 their
 situation,
 she
 knew
 that
 she
 wanted
 no
 change,
 at
 
least
 for
 now.
 

“Dear
 Michel,
 

I’ve
  been
  trying
  to
  contain
  myself,
  but
  something
  you
  wrote
  last
  week
  has
  really
 
stuck
 in
 my
 craw
 (to
 use
 a
 rather
 colloquial
 expression).
 You
 were
 right
 that
 you
 had
 
upset
 me.
 The
 phrase
 that
 is
 currently
 stuck
 in
 my
 head
 is
 “I’m
 not
 your
 type.”
 Not
 
exactly
 high
 praise…
 That
 sentiment
 had
 certainly
 taken
 away
 some
 of
 the
 pleasure
 I
 
normally
 get
 from
 thinking
 of
 you,
 at
 least
 temporarily.
 But…
 

I
  met
  my
  best
  friend
  for
  tea
  tonight.
  She
  has
  struggled
  mightily
  with
  her
  own
 
marriage
  over
  the
  last
  few
  years.
  She
  knows
  about
  my
  prior
  affair
  and
  now
  she
 
knows
 about
 you.
 She
 yearns
 also
 to
 have
 an
 affair
 (especially
 since
 she
 has
 learned
 
of
  the
  joy
  that
  my
  own
  experiences
  have
  brought
  me).
  She
  and
  a
  co-‐worker
  have
 
been
 flirting
 for
 some
 time
 and
 she
 longs
 to
 take
 the
 plunge
 with
 him,
 but
 he
 keeps
 
holding
  her
  at
  arm's
  length.
  We
  spent
  quite
  a
 bit
  of
  time
  discussing
  affairs
  and
  it
 
confirmed
  for
  me
  just
  how
  lucky
  I
  am
  to
  have
  connected
  with
  you.
  So
  know
  that
  I
 
will
 try
 very,
 very
 hard
 to
 keep
 you
 close.
 This
 relationship
 is
 too
 precious
 for
 us
 to
 
squander.
 This
 is
 what
 puts
 the
 spring
 in
 our
 steps
 and
 the
 smiles
 on
 our
 faces,
 even
 
if
 we
 shed
 the
 occasional
 tear.
 A
 moment
 of
 revelation
 for
 me.
 I
 will
 not
 let
 you
 go
 
gently.
 You
 complete
 me,
 Michel.
 Your
 hands
 and
 your
 body
 know
 me
 even
 before
 
we
 ever
 enter
 the
 same
 room.
 
I
 can
 appreciate
 your
 pain
 and
 your
 doubt,
 but
 I
 can
 no
 longer
 share
 it
 (how
 is
 that
 
for
 turning
 the
 tables
 on
 you?)
 And
 yes,
 you
 
are
 the
 man
 for
 me.
 Remember
 how
 you
 
knew
 exactly
 where
 you
 would
 first
 touch
 me
 (and
 that
 it
 would
 be
 my
 choice
 also?)
 
How
 you
 knew
 how
 I
 love
 to
 be
 taken
 from
 behind
 (before
 I
 ever
 shared
 that
 with
 
you?)
 How
 we
 share
 a
 love
 of
 ceremony
 and
 ritual?