Kramer vs. Kramer by Avery Corman

short, pudgy and had a bad complexion. Once, Ted would have merely dismissed her, because of her looks. Now he felt compassionate, because of her looks. She was on the meat rack here, as he was. Cynthia was a trace less plain, a frail-looking, light brunette with a slender figure.
    “Ted is on the comeback trail.”
    “Sort of.”
    “I’ll tell you something, girls, but don’t let it get around. He was one of the best stick men in the business.”
    They laughed, high-strung laughter. When Ted did not laugh, Cynthia stopped quickly.
    “What do you do, Ted?” Cynthia asked.
    “I sell advertising space.”
    He could tell the non-recognition.
    “When you see ads in a magazine, somebody sells the space for those ads to advertisers. I represent the magazines, and I call on advertising agencies and try to get them to buy space for their clients.”
    “It sounds fascinating.”
    “What do you do?”
    “I’m a legal secretary.”
    “That’s nice.”
    Barbara had invited Larry back for dinner, and now Cynthia extended a dinner invitation to Ted. He went back to the house and asked Martha if she would mind putting Billy to bed. It was fine with Martha, he checked it out with Billy, and Ted went on to the dinner party. The women had another housemate, who had invited a man in his thirties to also join them for dinner. Barbara’s mother was out for the weekend and was trying to be younger than her daughter. She had invited two hulking men in tank-top shirts whom she had picked up at the dock, where they had a powerboat. The boatsmen brought their own beer in a Styrofoam case.
    “I don’t think this party is going to make the women’s page of the Times ,” Ted whispered to Larry.
    “Wait until you see what we’re eating. Charcoal-broiled eggs.”
    Barbara appeared, surprisingly, with steaks for everyone, to loud cheering. The boatsmen took over the cooking. Ted and Larry made a salad. Beer and liquor flowed. One of the boatsmen turned out to be a football fan, and there was sports talk over dinner. Barbara’s mother had made a pecan pie, which brought another cheer from the crowd. They all talked about food and about how wonderful they all were, and how they should all get one big house together. Cynthia was the quietest one there, as though in fear that if she said too much, she would offend the person she was with and he would disappear. She asked Ted more about his job, he asked about hers. Someone put the phonograph on with the volume up and Ted was at the kind of noisy party he had been hearing from his room when he was trying to fall asleep. He danced with Cynthia and she pressed her thinness against him, creating his first naturally inspired erection in months.
    As the party became noisier, he took Cynthia by the hand and they strolled down the walk to the ocean. They stood there for a while and then he kissed her. She opened her mouth and they leaned against each other and he had his tongue in her mouth, and then he started running his hands all over her, inside her clothing, inside her. He led her off the walk and pulled her down on the dunes, out of view, kissing and fondling, as she said, “Oh, Ted,” and for an instant he could not respond, since he did not know what the hell her name was, and he went down on her in the dunes, thinking you could get arrested for anything else, and while he was there, he remembered it was Cynthia, and managed an “Oh, Cynthia.” A police car patrolling the beach lit the area with its headlights, and in the darkness it was as if floodlights had been turned on them, and they scrambled to their feet, making clothing adjustments. They went back along the dark walk, stopping every few yards to kiss. The party at her house was in full blast, the lights were still on in his house, and not knowing where to go or what else to do, they continued along the walk kissing, Ted feeling sad for her, how desperate she was to be loved a little bit, to be taken away from the deck, away