She certainly is smart enough (she's achieved a lot). Why does she have to fight for every ounce of respect? James doesn't.
Why does everyone make her feel like a bitch? For standing up for herself. "You've got to learn to stand up for yourself, Winnie," her father said. "Because nobody else will.”
He was right. Nobody else has ever stood up for her. Especially men.
What a useless gender. Ever since she was four and had to go to school with them and then her mother actually had one, she's believed they should just be eliminated. Aborted. Okay, a few could be allowed to live. But only for their sperm. And they'd have to be excellent specimens.
What was all that crap about men that she grew up with? That one day, one of these (pitiful) specimens was going to fall in love with her (and actually love her—hah—whoever dreamed that one up should be worth a kazillion dollars), and make her whole. Give her something she couldn't live without. (She can live without most of the penises she's met so far, so if s all a lie.) Take James.
She had to get him. (It was supposed to be the other way around. But if she had waited, let him "make all the moves" the way men are always telling you to let them, she'd still be waiting.) She had to pursue James the way she's had to pursue everything else in her life. With straightforward determination. (She didn't know how to play the boy-girl game. No one ever taught her. And besides, it seemed disgusting and dishonest.) "Listen, James," she said at the beginning, after she and James had had six dates (and slept together on the fourth). "Listen, James. I'm not going to play games." This was one week after their sixth date, and James suddenly wasn't calling. She had to call him. (How dare he? And why? Why was he treating her this way?) "I've been on deadline," he said.
"You could have called me," she said. (No one is too busy to pick up the phone, to make a one-minute phone call. No matter how busy they say they are. Sorry.) "I forgot," James said.
"You ... forgot?" Winnie said. (Was it possible for a human being to be so stupid?) "I've been on deadline/' James said. (As if this were an excuse. She should have known then. She should have run in the other direction.) She didn't know how to play games.
"You forgot," she said. Again. (And he was an award-winning journalist.) "How dare you forget," she said. "I slept with you, James. I had sex with you. We have a relationship. How dare you?" She hung up the phone. (She was shaking.) She called back.
"And you're fucking lucky to be going out with me.
Ten minutes later, he called. "Do you want to go to a book party with me on Monday?”
She accepted.
She should have run in the other direction. She didn't.
(A man once described his love for a former girlfriend to her: "She was like my lover, my mother, my sister, and my child," he said. To James, she is only his mother.) James needed her. (He still does nothing.) When she met him, he was living in a tiny studio apartment with a loft bed. He had a bureau and a desk under the loft. He had one old couch and bookshelves made of cinder blocks and two-by fours. He was thirty-two and his sink was full of dirty dishes.
Winnie washed his dishes.
"Listen, James," she said. "You're fucking lucky to be going out with me." (She was an editor at a women's magazine. A full editor. She got a free ride home in the company car if she worked past seven. She assigned pieces and had lunches with writers; sometimes she had to kill pieces too.
Then she'd call the writer and say, "I'm sorry, this piece just isn't working for us. Maybe you can try to sell it someplace else." Sometimes the writers would cry. Everyone said that Winnie was going to go far.) "Listen, James," Winnie said. "I think you have a fear of success. You have a fear of change. You're afraid that if you commit to me, you'll have to change. You'll have to acknowledge your success.”
"Do you think so?" James said. "I never thought about it that way. You could be right.”
All James does is agree. He agrees and then he does nothing.
"If s too much, James," she says now. "If s too much for me.”
"I know," he says. (He can't even plan a vacation. She plans it, and then he goes along for the ride.) He does nothing.
Winnie knows what she has to do. She has to stop taking care of James. And start taking care of herself. Isn't that what all the shrinks tell you to do in relationships? Stop focusing on the man? And focus on yourself? (Of course, if you stop focusing on the man, he'll probably leave. That’s what they forget to tell you.) She has to focus on her needs.
Winnie is going to sleep with Tanner and she's excited.
She calls her office. Speaks to her assistant. "What’s up?" the assistant says.
"I'm still in this emergency situation. I won't be back this afternoon. I'll call at the end of the day.”
"Someone named Jess Fukees called," her assistant says.
"He's not important. He's only the CEO of the company.”
"Okay," the assistant says. (Sarcasm is beyond her.) "It's not okay," Winnie says. "Call his secretary and tell her that I'm out of the office ... no, out of town, and I'll call him first thing tomorrow.”
"You go girl," the assistant says, and hangs up. Winnie goes home. "Hello," she says to the Jamaican nanny, who jumps up and quickly turns off the TV. Winnie ignores this.
"Mrs. Dieke. You're home early.”
"I'm not home at all," Winnie says. "I'm just stopping by. On my way to a meeting.”
She goes into the bedroom and opens her closet. Rifles through her shoes. Unopened, and still in their box, are the strappy sandals James gave her for her birthday.
She puts them on.
"Good-bye," she says to the Jamaican nanny.
She hails a cab. "Morgans Hotel on Madison Avenue," she says. At the desk, she says, "I'd like you to ring Mr. Paul Bunyan, please.”
“Is he expecting you?”
"Yes," Winnie says. She looks around the lobby.
If s so small, if s claustrophobic. She drums her nails on the white linoleum.
The desk clerk turns away and whispers into the phone. "Mr. Hart? There's a woman here to see you?”
"Winnie," Winnie says.
"Winnie," the clerk says. He puts down the phone. "You can go up. It's Suite A. Top floor.”
"Thank you," Winnie says.
She takes the elevator. Gets out in a narrow, gray carpeted hallway. She presses the buzzer for Suite A.
"Just a minute ... coming," Tanner says.
"Coming... u h ... uh ... ohmigod ... co-o-o-o-ming." He flings open the door.
"Hello," Winnie says.
"This is an unexpected surprise.”
"I hope I'm not ... interrupting anything.”
“If you were, I would throw her out.”
The bedroom is on the first floor. Winnie passes the open door. The sheets are rumpled. The suite is a duplex, two floors with terraces. She goes up the steps. Tanner follows her. He's freshly showered. She can smell his cologne. (Cologne! The last time she was with a man who wore cologne was probably fifteen years ago. She can still remember it. Paco Rabanne. It was that one-night stand, and she probably wouldn't have had sex with him if it hadn't been for the cologne.) "I'm just having tea," Tanner says. "Want some?”
“Sure," Winnie says. She sits down in front of a glass coffee table containing a tray with two teacups, a pot of tea, and lemon slices. "Were you expecting someone?”
"No. Someone just left. Unexpectedly," Tanner says.
They both laugh. "Evie?" Winnie says.
"I don't kiss and tell," he says. He pours the tea. "I've got something of yours," she says.
"I like your shoes.”