The Unbinding Read Online Free Page B

things they hear out of old folks sound that way. My grandson thinks ‘Eat your spinach’ is from the Bible.”
    “That’s funny. That’s cute. I have to hurry, though. Here’s my real problem. This guy I have a date with (that Kent I mentioned; he works there at your company, and no, I don’t plan to sleep with him immediately; just dinner and drinks, though I’m not so sure he drinks; he might be one of those grim, clean-living types), he told me this morning when he asked me out that he studied in San Francisco once, at ‘Berkeley College.’ Which didn’t sound right to me. And it’s not. I checked.”
    “It’s the University of California, Berkeley.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Did you confront him on his fib?”
    “I should have, but I’d lied, too. About a movie. That eye surgeon I’ve been trying like mad to ditch, he had me rent it for him a week ago, but I never saw it myself. I said I had, though. I told this guy Kent it’s my all-time favorite, actually. It changed me. Inspired me. La-di-da. I’m ass-fucked.”
    “When is your date? Do you still have time to watch it?”
    “The trouble is that the movies this surgeon likes, I never understand them. They’re way beyond me. And Kent’s going to want to talk about it, probably.”
    “Can the surgeon explain the film to you perhaps?”
    “I dumped him for good on my way to Colonel Geoff’s here because I’d told Kent I wasn’t seeing anyone and hadn’t since my divorce three years ago, which was actually closer to seven months ago but happened way down in Daytona, so I’m safe. Plus it was an annulment, technically, which means the marriage never legally took place. Which means I can’t misrepresent the facts about it because there aren’t any. Gone. Withdrawn. Erased.”
    “An annulment on what basis?”
    “We never actually had intercourse. Long story. My ex had anxieties. Me too.”
    “So why would you tell your new suitor you’re divorced?”
    “To make myself sound more substantial? More mature? An annulment comes off as an ‘oops,’ a silly slip—no scar tissue, no hard lessons, no inner journey—but with a divorce there’s core emotional trauma followed by gradual spiritual renewal.”
    “Let’s pause and summarize. Let’s halt the mudslide.”
    “That’s all I need. A halt. That’s why I called.”
    “On top of seeking some stranger’s admiration for cherishing a movie you’ve never seen (and doubt your ability to comprehend), you crave his respect for surviving an ordeal you haven’t undergone.”
    “But know I will.”
    “The odds of divorce are only one in two, dear.”
    “Not in my case. I have different odds. I’ve learned from reading medication labels that if there’s a three percent or greater chance of some uncomfortable weird side effect—blurred vision, say, or difficulty swallowing—I’m basically guaranteed I’m going to get it. That’s who I am, I’ve learned. The failure rate. The person they print the warning stickers for…
I’m coming. I’m dishing the soup up. Hold your horses
.”
    “It’s time for you to go. He’s hungry.”
    “Lonely. He gets depressed from working on his lists. Those were his golden years. Colonel Sunset Strip. You’ve been terrific, though. This really helped. Honesty. Openness. Clarity. Why not? Otherwise, what’s there to love? The fear?”
    “You’re right.”
    “The cover-up? The performance?”
    “No. You’re right.”
    “Saying I want to talk to you again, how do I make sure I get you? What’s your schedule? I feel like unless we keep this going here I’ll lose my nerve. I’ll turn all fake again. All shaky and fake, like before I left Daytona. Active angel? I’m turning off the Crock-Pot. You there? I’ll unplug it. Are we connected? Fuck!”
    “My code is Operator Fifteen-F . I’m here from nine to six except on Wednesdays. An eight-day vacation in Budapest nine weeks from now.”
    “You scared me. My heart stopped.”
    “I saw that on