Fall From Grace, the rest of the story
At age 81, fingertips full of stabbing pain even when not keyboarding, my writing is severely curtailed. Stories go unfinished: three novels and a dozen shorter works. For five years or so Medium has been an outlet for advertising my writing, hoping to stir interest.
Since my hands betrayed me this year, I mostly post chapters and excerpts from published works. Most recently, “Fall From Grace” from “Venus Mons Iliad Book Three.” There was a Paul Harvey “rest of the story.” Untold, barely remembered. (It was 30 years ago!) Fragments in neuron coffins rise and walk, and I rub neuropathy cream into my aching hands for a little relief and start typing…
Remembered worry from back then led me to Google Brain for confirmation of one fragment. Before “Ish” ever visited his online paramour, she was one of the chaperons for an international student junket. When Trans World Airlines Flight 800 exploded and went into the Atlantic that summer, no survivors, the dead included such a class and chaperons bound for Rome. She poo-pooed all entreaties to cancel her trip. (The news was full of speculation the crash could have been a terrorist act.)
A small publisher in Portland, Oregon, wanted to commission me to do a book on an obscure Saudi from a wealthy family, perched in Afghanistan to declare war against the United States. Terrorism was in the air. It was the same year the Atlanta Summer Olympics were bombed. The New Jersey lady finished her overseas junket safely and before long was off to some kind of conference in Texas. In between, she was off on a date with a Scot to some sort of Highland Fling, and liked to tease her online paramour about what Scots wore under their kilts — nothing — and what a good time she had cock-watching.
When Ish got home from his East Coast junket he had contrite email waiting, reiterating stress she’d been under from her (ex?) husband about leaving her kids with a sitter overnight, and demands about what she’d been up to. That’s why she reacted so harshly to his unexpected arrival in New Jersey.
She tried offering Ish cybersex as an apology — something they’d never done. She was just sure they had. Nope, he said, straight to phone sex at her request. Okay then, is it safe to call? His shame and humiliation at being so summarily dismissed in New Jersey almost choked him. He said it was time to call this off. Her instant agreement was breath-taking. Still friends? Sure he said, still friends.
There matters rested for a good long time.
Since I was on Google Brain I scanned notable events thirty years ago. The cheap burner phone mentioned in “Fall From Grace” may have been part of the first flip mobile phone roll-out January 1996. In February 1996, Congress passed the Communication Decency Act, an attempt to regulate pornographic material online. A federal court overturned it. More famous people were felled by HIV. Rupert Murdoch launched Fox News. Sen. Joe Biden voted for the Defense of Marriage Act, which prohibited the federal government from recognizing same-sex marriages, barring individuals in such marriages from equal protection under federal law and allowing states to do the same.
In the 1995–1996 Taiwan Strait Crisis (Taiwan-China tensions have existed since World War Two) the Clinton administration was more ambivalent towards Taiwan and conciliatory towards China than commonly portrayed at the time, according to later research. The administration’s frustrations with Taipei during this time were not elucidated, but Clinton’s stance was questioned, noting it helped establish non-military norms limiting U.S. support for Taiwan. (And maybe emboldened Red China to keep pushing. Bullies smell fear and indecision easily as a dog.)
Lots more going on 30 years ago. Mostly forgotten. But not the AOL conversation Ish had with an unknown screen name — who turned out to be his New Jersey “friend.” New Jersey no longer — Texas now.
Unsupported memory supplies an approximation of the “chat”: Remember those Texas conferences I always went to? How you never heard from me when I was there? He was so jealous I had to be careful…
She’d married him, this nameless jealous Texan. Moved into an enormous house with four or five bathrooms, some with gold-plated fixtures. Mistress of all she surveyed. No more lawyering. No more teaching literature. No more European boards of directors. Bird in a gilded cage. One of them said that, and they laughed. But I have plenty of time to read she said. I love your writing — especially about Paris. I’m so glad I saw you here. I have a Paris story of my own!
The Texan had taken her to Paris. Taken her up in the Eiffel Tower — presented her with a bouquet of roses and a ring, and proposed. Wasn’t that romantic?
Ish said roses?
She said I know, I know. You know I hate roses. He doesn’t. Nobody knows me like you. He’s trying so hard, so I cut him some slack on roses…
They typed back and forth for a bit. Before long she admitted boredom in the big house supervising staff with her husband gone so much, managing his enterprises. And when he was home? Exhausted, poor baby. One and done, you know? Rolls over and goes to sleep. Know what I wish?
Not really.
I wish you could come down here and show him how to make love to me. He’d probably agree… We could even pay for lessons. He’d do it for me.
But I won’t, Ish said. Good luck with your life. Then he went out on the back deck of his country home and peed on the rhododendrons, concluding not for the first time and not for the last, he would never, ever understand women.
.
