The Town Square

The Town Square
(published in the spring edition of http://kenagain.freeservers.com )

by Quentin Poulsen

Sally had come up to Brighton Heights to visit her friend Liz. It was past dark outside as they sat in the living room sipping their tea.

"So your Harry's out with the boys again, is he?" she said, helping herself to a slice of shortbread.

"Straight from the footy to the bar, as always," Liz confirmed with a morose shake of the head. "I expect he'll be stumbling in through the door at four or five this mornin,' boozed up to the eyeballs."

"Men!" Sally delivered the ultimate curse. "Who needs 'em? They're all sexist pigs when it comes down to it. Best thing I ever did was stay single."

"I dare say you're right, Sally." Liz stirred the lemon in her tea.

"Course I am. No one to cook or clean for. No one planted on the sofa watching footy all afternoon. No one comin' 'ome at all hours with a belly full of grog. No one to shout or clout me when he feels the need to impose his manhood. I do pity you married women, Liz. Freedom is what I've got."

Liz sipped her tea and eyed her guest thoughtfully. "Yes, but you were keen on that fitness instructor down at Tommy's Gym at one time, weren't you, dear?"

"Steve Sherman?!" Sally shrieked, aghast. "Gawd, no. He was going out with half the women in the town. Damned if I was to be one of the flock! All I said was he was rather attractive, in a brutish sort of way. And so he was. But like all attractive men he let it go to his head. Oh, no. It didn't take me long to figure him out."

"Nevertheless, you didn't miss a class in nearly six months. Even declined an invitation to your cousin's wedding, as I recall. I've never known you to be so regular."

Sally blinked across at her host, as though astounded by her inability to grasp the obvious. "I was on a program, dear. You know how expensive they are. I didn't fork out all that money just to go and spend my time at relatives' wedding ceremonies."

Liz refilled her friend's cup and assumed a caring tone; "Far be it from me to judge, Sally, but I dare say you could use a man. There are still a few good ones out there if you look hard enough."

"Good ones?" Sally rolled her eyes. "Are you out of your mind? Where? Down at the local, I s'pose, wobbling their great hairy bellies as they strut back and forth between the bar and the dart board! No thank you very kindly!"

Sally laughed with affected relief, as one who has peered over the precipice and stepped away just in time. She of the superior wisdom; the lone visionary among the blind. They had been friends for many long years. It was important to her that Liz understood she had been happier on her own all that time, and that the presence of a man in her life could only have served as some unwanted burden.

"Well," said Liz, pondering the question at hand, "Tracy seems to be happy enough with Adam. Fancy landing a lawyer, lucky girl! And I hear they're set to tie the knot next year."

"You ARE out of your mind!" cried Sally, laughing harder still. "Happy? That's not what she told me. Adam's down the pub every other night. And you know what these rugger-types are like when they've been on the booze. Winds up in a brawl more often than not. Why, just the other day I saw him with a black eye."

"Oh dear." Liz slumped in her seat. "I wondered how he'd got that. I had no idea."

"Men at their primeval lowest," said Sally with a toss of her head. "Reduced to savage beasts by a few jugs of ale. Sometimes I think that's their natural state, you know. The world would be better off without 'em."

Liz nodded in capitulation. She offered her guest another piece of shortbread, which was gratefully accepted.

"Yes, you always were the sensible one, Sally. While the rest of us were falling prey to the hunks, the smooth-talkers, the muscle-bound jocks, allowing ourselves to be deceived by their good looks and charm, you alone stood firm in resistance, keeping them at bay; your defenses never breached; your walls impenetrable. You have been an example to the rest of us. If only we'd had the good sense to follow."

Sally leaned across and put an arm around her friend. "Come now," she said consolingly. "You weren't to know he would turn out this way. Harry was as good a specimen as you could hope to find in this world. I remember it well. But like all those of the male persuasion he was given to weaknesses which would inevitably lead to his decline. Oh, I've seen it time and again. A woman's hopes, so pure and vain, dashed to pieces on the rocks of male vice"

That evening, after her guest had departed, Liz prepared for bed. It would be another few hours before Harry came crashing in to wake her with his raucous, clumsy antics. She gazed in the mirror as she removed her make-up. The lines beneath her eyes seemed more pronounced than ever. Undeniably then, her youth was slipping away. Sometimes now she looked almost middle-aged. That waistline had to come in as well. It was all such a struggle; an increasingly uphill battle with Father Time that she was destined to lose.

'Ah, well,' she thought, 'it's the same for us all. But how many women have to put up with a man like Harry? That's the real tragedy of my life.' She stood gazing in the mirror, pondering her fate a few minutes more. 'Still, I dare say it could be worse. He doesn't beat me or chase other women, like some a them do. He earns a good wage, and he's still a better looker than most. If it weren't for the drinking... I suppose that's my lot; a woman's lot. I've just got to accept it.'
With that she turned off the lights, climbed into bed and sighed deeply, comforted by the dull satisfaction of the aggrieved.

Early next morning, in a third floor downtown studio apartment, another woman stood staring at herself in the mirror. But for Sally there was no thought of 'giving in' to the ageing process. She saturated her lines with cream and tightened her corset to a point from which she could hardly breathe. There was, nonetheless, that familiar pang of unhappiness inside her; a sense of unfolding disaster. The house was deadly silent.

'How lucky I am to be on my own,' she thought to herself as she did up her hair. 'But, oh, these lines!'

She went for breakfast at an outdoor cafe and tried to read the paper. The noise of the traffic served to distract her, however, and she was unable to absorb the news. A good book was what she needed. She resolved to visit the library.

Her old schoolmate James Monk was behind the front desk when she entered. He looked up from his computer and smiled serenely.

"Top of the morning, Sally. How are things at the boutique?" It was his standard, predictable greeting; the same question every time.

"Sales are steady as always, thank you, James," she replied in her customary manner. "Any good books to recommend this month?"

James raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. He seemed born for the position. Slim, balding and bespectacled, he wore a plain silk waistcoat over his blue cotton shirt. His face remained smooth and unblemished by time. It was a face never seen at the bars and clubs of the town. Neither a sportsman nor an adventurer, James was an only child whose father had died when he was young. And now, at age thirty-four, he still lived with his mother. This last was a subject of much hilarity among Sally and her friends. The 'Town Square,' they called him. The mere sight of him now was enough to remind her of the wrinkles emerging around her eyes.

"There's an interesting book just out by Lord Davenport," he told her with unbridled enthusiasm. "All about Turkey – from the ancient Hatti and Hittite civilizations to the arrival of the Islamized Turkmen from Central Asia and the fall of Constantinople. There is a particularly enthralling chapter devoted to the controversies of Iconoclasm within the Byzantine Empire."

"Sounds fascinating, James. Where can I find it?"

The librarian beamed with pleasure. "I knew it would appeal to someone as cultured as yourself, Sally. It's down on the third row, in the History section, of course."

As she started toward the aisle, James began to say something more, "Er, Sally..."

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, James?"

"Well, I was wondering if...." he stammered, then broke off sheepishly. "Oh, never mind. The book's got a green cover."

Sally located the book, a large hardback brimming with glossy illustrations, and sat down at a table to browse through it. But, as with the paper at the outdoor cafe, she soon found herself unable to concentrate. Only, this time there was no traffic to distract her. The library was as quiet as her apartment had been that dawn. Something was playing on her mind. Something Freudian perhaps? She did not know. A little more excitement was what she needed. She resolved to go to a movie.

The film was a romantic tragedy and made her cry. She got the full value of her money's worth. If she hurried home, she would make it in time to see 'Claudia;' the obese African-American talk-show host whose relentless condemnations of the male oppressor never failed to inject her with a gratifying boost of ire.

Stopping at a red light in the city center, she glanced up to see a sporty red convertible pulling up beside her. It was Steve Sherman back in town! Reclining leisurely in the driver's seat, he turned and winked at her, a lopsided grin on his big square jaw.

"Hello, Sally," he called. "Still doin' your classes?"

"Er, no, not at present, Steve," she replied awkwardly. "I've been a little busy."

"Oh, that's too bad. I'm working here this summer. Perhaps you'll come along in the future some time."

"Perhaps," she agreed.

Then the lights changed and he was off, tires squeeling, blond hair flowing in the breeze. Sally remained transfixed for a moment, even when the horns began tooting behind her. The confidence of the man! There was charm in that alone. It bespoke a certain warrior-like spirit; the quality of a man who would find his way to the top. She drove the rest of the way home in a dream.

That evening Jenny dropped by. She had cancelled her trip to the coast and would instead be going on a ski holiday with her fiance. Evidently they were back together again.

"What about all that carry on last month, if you don't mind my asking?" Sally inquired as she poured the tea.

"Oh, that's dead and buried," Jenny replied, a little more brightly than natural. "He's over her now. I s'pose he just had to get it out of his system."

Sally shook her head in wonder. "Well, you are a forgiving soul, Jen. I'm not sure I would have been so quick to put it behind me."

Jenny sprinkled sugar in her cup and rested a compassionate eye on her host. "You're so demanding, Sally. That's your problem. You've more chance of spying a yeti than the perfect man."

"I've no doubt about it," replied Sally flatly. "But is it so much to ask – fidelity, honesty, an ability to control his drinking? That's all I want. Nothing more. But where in this wretched world am I going to find a man like that?"

"As a matter of fact, I happen to know of someone who fits that description entirely." Jenny leaned forward with a mischievous smile. "And what's more, this particular gentleman makes no secret of his interest in you."

Sally's heart pounded as she stared back at her. Was it Steve Sherman she was referring to? He of the wink and the lopsided grin? Faithful he was not. Honest – hardly likely. And he was known to put away a few jugs on weekend nights to boot. But of who else could her guest be speaking?

"James Monk, the librarian," Jenny leaned closer, her smile broadening, and patted her on the arm. "I bumped into him at the supermarket just this afternoon. He couldn't stop talking about you."

Sally collapsed back into her seat, as though felled by a mortal blow. The stammering Town Square?! Was this some kind of sick joke? A life with James Monk occurred to her as a direct path to old age. She could already see herself as an elderly woman. No mountains climbed nor exotic parts visited. Oh, what a bore! He was as a tame burro beside the wild mustang she had encountered at the traffic lights that morning. Steve Sherman! Ah, there was a distraction. A reckless escapade through the carnival of life. What did it matter the masks that he wore? It was all part of the adventure.

She began collecting up the chinaware as her bemused guest looked on. "Drink up, dear. Let's go down to Tommy's. I want to take out another membership."

End