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\n\t\t\tFairfax Media via Getty Images\t\t<\/p>\n
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\n\t\t\tFairfax Media via Getty Images\t\t<\/p>\n
(Editor\u2019s note: This column was originally published on July 1, 1996.) On Winnie Dieke\u2019s 38th birthday, her husband James Dieke wakes up scared. Winnie Dieke wakes up depressed. Not that she has anything to be depressed about\u2014she\u2019s hit all her life landmarks (which could have been land mines) in style: first job at 22, met future husband at 25, first assignment for a prestigious magazine at 27, married at 28 (well under the 30-year deadline she\u2019d set for herself), established herself as a \u201cserious journalist\u201d by 30, co-op at 31, pregnant at 32, her own column in a national news magazine at 34. For the past few weeks, Winnie has been spending a lot of time reminding herself of everything she\u2019s achieved. Something is wrong.<\/p>\n
Winnie doesn\u2019t want to admit it (she never wants to admit that there could be anything wrong with her life), but that something might be James. Lately, she\u2019s been worried about James. Irritated, actually. James hasn\u2019t been holding up his end of the bargain. He should have written a major, important book by now (preferably about politics, so easy considering the political climate), which would have elevated her status as his wife (she didn\u2019t take his last name for no reason). If James had written the book by now, they would have access to more important, influential people. They would be important, influential people.<\/p>\n
But instead, James keeps writing the same kind of pieces. And agonizing over them. Half the time now, James calls her up during the day and says, \u201cI can\u2019t write. I\u2019m blocked.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh please, James,\u201d she\u2019ll say. \u201cI\u2019ve got a kazillion things going on. I\u2019ve got a C.E.O. on the other line. If you\u2019re blocked, go pick up dinner. And make sure it\u2019s fat-free.\u201d Then she hangs up. She wishes he would just get on with it.<\/p>\n
When Winnie tries, when she gently suggests that maybe he should really get to work on a book proposal, he sulks. He actually turns on the TV and watches some idiotic, mindless show like Hercules. Sometimes Winnie freaks out and hurls the remote at the wall. It always ends with Winnie shouting, \u201cDo I have to do everything? Do I have to work and take care of our son [even though she doesn\u2019t really take care of the child\u2014the nanny does] and keep our careers on track? Do I have to make us famous?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re already famous,\u201d James shouts back (thinking, You make me sick and why did I marry you?). \u201cWe\u2019re as famous as we\u2019re going to get, Winnie. What else do you want me to do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m doing more,\u201d Winnie says, calmer, because she doesn\u2019t have the stamina to go on screaming forever (but she does, James thinks, have the stamina to do enough screaming). Then Winnie pulls out her big gun: \u201cWhy don\u2019t we move to Washington?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to move to Washington. All my editors are here,\u201d James says. And then he retrieves the remote control from under a chair, and goes back to Hercules.<\/p>\n
Winnie and James never tell their friends about these arguments. On the weekends, when they\u2019re hiking or antiquing with their friends (everybody piles into somebody\u2019s car and they go \u201cpoking around\u201d western Connecticut), they present a united front: They respect and admire each other and each other\u2019s work. They are best friends. Even when they all had that horrendous group discussion on Saturday evening (they all agreed the next morning that too much red wine had been consumed\u2014four bottles between the eight of them\u2014and vowed never to let that happen again) about what social class the were from and what social class they now belonged, Winnie and James\u2019 relationship remained firmly intact on the surface.<\/p>\n
And it might not have. While Winnie\u2019s class background was established beyond a doubt\u2014she came from a well-to-do Irish family, grew up in a 10-room colonial house on 20 acres in Pennsylvania where her father was a judge (\u201ctextbook, practically\u201d James had said)\u2014James\u2019 was not. His father owned three dry-cleaning stores on Long Island. That night, no one could agree on whether or not the fact that he \u201cowned three stores\u201d elevated him from blue-collar to white-collar.<\/p>\n
James knows what is wrong with his life and his writing. He\u2019s been losing his drive at about the same rate he\u2019s been losing his hard-on.<\/p>\n
The Shoe Department<\/p>\n
On Winnie\u2019s birthday, James wakes up and is afraid. He\u2019s going to do something to Winnie. Something she won\u2019t like. And he\u2019s excited.<\/p>\n
At noon, James go to Bloomingdale\u2019s to meet Winnie\u2019s sister, Evie. As he walks toward the shoe department, he realizes his worst fear has taken place\u2014Evie is not there.<\/p>\n
He stands in the middle of the shoe department, not knowing what to do. Everybody is watching him. He is on display (like a shoe). He picks up a shoe and puts it down. A salesman comes over. What kind of man is a salesman in a woman\u2019s shoe department? The man asks if he can help him. James says \u201cNo, I\u2019m waiting for my wife. It\u2019s her birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n
Why has he lied to the salesman? What if the man finds out that Evie is not his wife? He will think Evie is his mistress. What if Evie were his mistress? What if he were secretly fucking his wife\u2019s sister? (It could happen. Evie fucks everyone, has a new boyfriend every two weeks, sleeps with married men, sleeps with guys she meets in classes at the Learning Annex, at the snack bar in the Met.)<\/p>\n
James thinks about leaving, about teaching Evie a lesson. But she might show up any minute. He sits down.<\/p>\n
He tries to look comfortable. He\u2019s getting angry. When he was 3 or 4, he once got separated from his mother in Bloomingdale\u2019s. They were in the lingerie department. Pointy bras, girdles, all hanging above his head. He circled around and around, thinking he\u2019d see his mother behind the next forest of bras. He sat down. He cried. He was more scared than he\u2019d ever been before, or since. Angry, too. He thought his mother had ditched him on purpose.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello, Jimmy,\u201d Evie had come up behind and put her hands over his eyes. He doesn\u2019t move. He looks through her long slender fingers and he can smell her perfume.<\/p>\n
\u201cDammit, Evie. I don\u2019t have much time.\u201d (Reminding her of whom she is dealing with. Winnie would approve.)<\/p>\n
\u201cDeadline?\u201d Evie asks (smartly, he thinks).<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m always on deadline,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s about responsibility. Something you\u2019re not familiar with.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGee, thanks,\u201d Evie says. She is a little bit crushed, he can tell. But he has to crush her. (He can\u2019t let her flirt with him. Winnie said that Evie must learn about boundaries. Become a healthy member of society.)<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s make this quick then,\u201d Evie says. She smiles. \u201cI\u2019ve got a deadline, too, I wanted it to be a surprise. I got that assignment from The New York Times! Oh, Jimmy,\u201d she says, \u201cYou\u2019re going to have to help me. I\u2019m going to be calling you every day.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019d you do that?\u201d James asks. Evie doesn\u2019t deserve to get an assignment from The New York Times. She\u2019s never written a piece in her life. He wants to scream (as he so often wants to scream these days), What is the
world coming to?<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, good for you,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
Evie picks out a bunch of shoes. All high-heeled sandals. \u201cFuck me\u201d shoes, Winnie would call them, without affection. He watches as Evie\u2019s foot, with its perfectly painted toenails, slides into the shoe. She has good legs. Great legs.<\/p>\n
\u201cJimmy,\u201d she says, turning her foot this way and that, watching James watch her, \u201cI really want you to be happy for me. I\u2019m trying to make something out of my life. Can you and Winnie be supportive, for a change?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe are,\u201d James says, lying.<\/p>\n
Evie puts her hand on his shoulder as he leans down to unstrap the shoe. She looks at him suggestively, and for the first time, he looks back at her suggestively. If she can break the rules, he thinks, maybe he can too.<\/p>\n
He spends four hours shoe shopping with Evie. They go to Barneys. Bergdorf Goodman. Saks. They go to lunch (Gino\u2019s). Evie drinks red wine, even though it\u2019s summer (Winnie would frown) and he does, too. (He objects at first, ordering mineral water, and then, after Evie has downed her first glass and motioned for another, he quietly orders a glass for himself.) After lunch, they decide on the perfect pair of shoes for Winnie. Manolo Blahniks. Sandals. The shoes cost $500. He pays gleefully, almost drunkenly. Then he insists on buying a pair for Evie, too, because \u201cYou looked so great in them.\u201d Evie refuses, laughing.<\/p>\n
He and Evie part on the street corner. \u201cI\u2019m going to call you tomorrow,\u201d she says. \u201cSo we can discuss my article.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a piece, Evie, a piece. Not an article,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
He walks away. The alcohol is wearing off and he feels queasy, like a thing that\u2019s been left out in the elements for too long. What has he done? He hails a cab. For the first time in his marriage, he wishes he didn\u2019t have to go home.<\/p>\n
The Gift<\/p>\n
Winnie still considers it her job to be the good-looking one in the marriage. It\u2019s part of mastering the world. It\u2019s part of being perfect. She is 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighs 112 pounds. If she let herself go, let her body reach its natural weight, she\u2019d probably weight more around 125 or 130, but she won\u2019t let herself. Control. She runs at 7 A.M. She is very against magazines using skinny young models, she think it\u2019s an affront to women, but she would never be fat herself. She would never even be two pounds overweight.<\/p>\n
But there are limits. She will not wear lingerie. She will not wear overly short skirts. See-through blouses. And ridiculous shoes.<\/p>\n
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