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Forty-three Francine

I have been neglecting Bill.

I have not been neglecting Bill. He doesn't interest me.

He is such a nice man.

George is not a nice man. He is an interesting man. Can't a nice man be interesting? I must ask Joan and Margaret, they're both married to such nice men.

I have been neglecting my sisters.

Joan and Margaret come in to town from their respective exurbias once each month to do Bloomingdale's, have a wicked two-cocktail lunch, take in a matinee, exchange gossip.

Dear Joan and Margaret, I thought I'd join you for lunch today. You are older, more experienced. Tell me, am I looking for trouble with George Thomassy, what do you think? I'm making him sound like a sheriff? Oh no, he's a lawyer, Gary Cooper Thomassy.

How old is he? Let's see now, Joan, your husband is two years older than you are, and Margaret, your husband is three years older than you are, and George Thomassy is seventeen years older than I am, isn't it obscene? Have I what, gone to bed with him? Now Joan, I haven't asked you about developments in your predicament, as you called it, does Bob still fall asleep in the middle of things? And Margaret, is Harvey still too shy to you-know-what? I see, you want to know if my lawyer friend and I are compatible, considering the difference in our ages and that he's an ethnic? Well, I enjoy his company afterwards, is that a good sign?

Is he successful? Mmmmm. I assume that's a money question. I don't know about his money, he has his eye on the process, not the destination. It's called drive. I have no idea what his annual income might be. He lives modestly compared to J. Paul Getty. By the way, did I tell you I was raped? I didn't? I don't suppose either of you have ever had the experience or you would have told us, I'm sure. A gas station owner in my case, not very classy. He's going to jail, if he's not already there.

Why thank you. Without sisters, who would wish me luck?

I don't believe in luck. Sometimes a fortunate coincidence comes along to help, but the engine isn't driven on luck. Virtue doth not beget its own rewards. I am not a cynic. I am a realist.

What in stupid hell is a realist doing getting in deep with a kid of twenty-seven?

She is not a kid. I hate to remember what I was like at twenty-seven.

She is demanding. I have no respect for rugs and dishrags in the form of people. I am demanding, why shouldn't she be?

What evidence, Your Honor, is there that she and I are right for each other?

Is it objectively verifiable that I'm happy when I'm with her and unhappy when I'm not with her?

Your Honor, that is circumstantial evidence, at best. Besides, I got restless as hell in the studio the other night.

I was not with her? A spectator, watching her? Your Honor, if she came to this court, she would be a spectator watching me in my arena.

Should lovers watch each other performing professionally? Their acts for the world are what?

Theater.

Your Honor, life happens offstage, in private, unnoticed by strangers.

I feel convicted. I didn't do anything. Your Honor. I request a stay of sentence.