all summer, could not get out of her chair. George, the psychiatrist, Johnny-on-the-spot with his analysis, said Ellen was a highly suggestible person and was negatively influenced by the event of the July Fourth weekend when her former housemate also could not get out of her chair. It became part of the Fire Island folklore, going into the aural history of the island, a record, like most doubles by a shortstop in a single season—most nervous breakdowns in a group house in a single season.
It was a grubby game Ted was going to be making his comeback in, and it may have been over in Fire Island, but he knew by now that it was going to be a very long season.
NINE
T HE DIVORCE TOOK SEVEN minutes. The judge held the hearing in his chambers. John Shaunessy, the lawyer and football buff, sent his team up the middle, a few affidavits, the wife was not contesting, a doctor’s letter saying the husband had been tense, Ted answered a printed series of questions, he said the experience had been upsetting, and the judge did not appear to be involved. They rolled over the opposition, who did not put a team on the field. Judgment granted on the divorce and custody on the grounds of “cruel and inhuman treatment rendering cohabitation unsafe or improper.” Ten days later the actual papers signed by the judge came by mail, and Ted Kramer and Joanna Kramer were legally divorced.
Ted felt a gesture was in order. He took Billy out to Burger King. The celebration was restrained, since all Billy was celebrating was a large order for French fries. The boy had a fragile enough hold on what marriage was and where babies came from, so Ted had elected not to complicate his life by discussing pending judicial proceedings. Now he wanted him to know.
“Billy, there’s something called divorce. It’s when two people who were married get un-married.”
“I know. Seth got divorced.”
“Seth’s parents got divorced. Like your mommy and daddy. Your mommy and daddy are divorced now, Billy.”
“Didn’t Mommy say she’d send me presents?”
I don’t speak for the lady, Billy.
“Maybe she will.”
“Can I have some more French fries?”
“No, wise guy, you had enough.”
Ted looked at him as if he were admiring a painting, Billy in his Burger King crown.
This was pleasant enough, but eating junk food with his son did not seem appropriate to the event, which had a $2000 price tag on it. He thought he owed himself more. At the restaurant he called a teenager in his building who had offered her baby-sitting services and he arranged for her to sit that evening. There was not a woman in his life to celebrate this with him. In the two months since Fire Island he had let his social life, if it could have been called that, go untended. Larry would have been too manic. He did not want to go by himself to a bar and tell a stranger his life’s story. He called dentist Charlie.
Charlie had moved into a studio apartment with his hygienist, but they broke up after only two weeks of exclusivity. Charlie called Ted then, and said the guys should stick together and see each other. When Ted asked about getting together that very night, Charlie was ecstatic. They met on Second Avenue and 72nd Street in the heart of the singles’ bars. The plan was to drink their way along the line. Ted was wearing a corduroy jacket, sweater and slacks. Charlie, a portly man of forty-five, appeared in a blazer, and with plaid pants so loud they were like Op Art.
The first place they chose was called Pals, a suitable-looking bar from the outside. When they walked in, it was all men, dressed in leather. A cowboy at the door with a bulging crotch and leather eyes, said, “Hi, tigers,” and they scampered out of the corral. Rio Rita’s was next, with a blaring jukebox and a scene at the bar that looked like a Fire Island deck. College kids, Ted decided, and over a couple of drinks, he listened to Charlie absolve him of the blame for the break-up with Thelma.
It was a grubby game Ted was going to be making his comeback in, and it may have been over in Fire Island, but he knew by now that it was going to be a very long season.
NINE
T HE DIVORCE TOOK SEVEN minutes. The judge held the hearing in his chambers. John Shaunessy, the lawyer and football buff, sent his team up the middle, a few affidavits, the wife was not contesting, a doctor’s letter saying the husband had been tense, Ted answered a printed series of questions, he said the experience had been upsetting, and the judge did not appear to be involved. They rolled over the opposition, who did not put a team on the field. Judgment granted on the divorce and custody on the grounds of “cruel and inhuman treatment rendering cohabitation unsafe or improper.” Ten days later the actual papers signed by the judge came by mail, and Ted Kramer and Joanna Kramer were legally divorced.
Ted felt a gesture was in order. He took Billy out to Burger King. The celebration was restrained, since all Billy was celebrating was a large order for French fries. The boy had a fragile enough hold on what marriage was and where babies came from, so Ted had elected not to complicate his life by discussing pending judicial proceedings. Now he wanted him to know.
“Billy, there’s something called divorce. It’s when two people who were married get un-married.”
“I know. Seth got divorced.”
“Seth’s parents got divorced. Like your mommy and daddy. Your mommy and daddy are divorced now, Billy.”
“Didn’t Mommy say she’d send me presents?”
I don’t speak for the lady, Billy.
“Maybe she will.”
“Can I have some more French fries?”
“No, wise guy, you had enough.”
Ted looked at him as if he were admiring a painting, Billy in his Burger King crown.
This was pleasant enough, but eating junk food with his son did not seem appropriate to the event, which had a $2000 price tag on it. He thought he owed himself more. At the restaurant he called a teenager in his building who had offered her baby-sitting services and he arranged for her to sit that evening. There was not a woman in his life to celebrate this with him. In the two months since Fire Island he had let his social life, if it could have been called that, go untended. Larry would have been too manic. He did not want to go by himself to a bar and tell a stranger his life’s story. He called dentist Charlie.
Charlie had moved into a studio apartment with his hygienist, but they broke up after only two weeks of exclusivity. Charlie called Ted then, and said the guys should stick together and see each other. When Ted asked about getting together that very night, Charlie was ecstatic. They met on Second Avenue and 72nd Street in the heart of the singles’ bars. The plan was to drink their way along the line. Ted was wearing a corduroy jacket, sweater and slacks. Charlie, a portly man of forty-five, appeared in a blazer, and with plaid pants so loud they were like Op Art.
The first place they chose was called Pals, a suitable-looking bar from the outside. When they walked in, it was all men, dressed in leather. A cowboy at the door with a bulging crotch and leather eyes, said, “Hi, tigers,” and they scampered out of the corral. Rio Rita’s was next, with a blaring jukebox and a scene at the bar that looked like a Fire Island deck. College kids, Ted decided, and over a couple of drinks, he listened to Charlie absolve him of the blame for the break-up with Thelma.
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