Sins of Pearl

“Well, after Ted and I split, Rose told me that the night before she left, when I was at a PTA meeting, he came into her room, exposed himself, and tried to get her to go to bed with him.  She left and spent that night with a friend and moved out the next day.  Without an explanation.  Dumb, blind me!”  She drained her last drops and signaled the steward, who refilled her glass.  A tad of wine remained in the bottle, so he placed it back in the bucket.

“You still haven’t said why you didn’t leave earlier.”  He ate another slice of the bread.

“The marriage vow said for better or worse till death do us part.   I couldn’t leave.  I made my oath before God.  So I did the best I could.  I really tried.”  She sipped more wine.  “God, did I try.  Mama used to tell me that the efforts behind a successful marriage were 95 percent the woman’s and 5 percent the man’s.  How right she was.  And at school!  The sisters pounded into us that divorce is a sin.  If my marriage failed, then I was a failure.  Doomed to hell.”  She took another swallow.  “I couldn’t.  Do you understand that?”

“Yep, and that’s what you should tell Bev.”

“I did, or at least part.  She said that I was dumb not to sue for divorce.”  Tears welled up.  “Shit.  Now I’m getting melancholy.”   She wiped her eyes.  “Bev said I had no self-respect and should break free from those stupid rules.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her that a woman’s self-respect is secondary to her husband, marriage, and children.”  Pearl looked around.  “Damn, the service is slow.  Where the hell is our food?”

Wayne put his hand on her arm. “Mother, perhaps you better calm down a bit.”

“‘Mother?  I must be getting drunk.”  She tasted her bread.  “You know what Bev said when I told her that?”

“I can imagine.”  He was grinning.

“Bullshit!”

“‘Bullshit? I can’t imagine?”  Wayne asked.

“No!  That’s what she said. ‘Bullshit!’”

Wayne chuckled.  “She always did cut to the chase.”

Pearl laughed and looked around.  The alcohol had lifted her thick veil of societal propriety.  “Is our food ever coming?  Only the French have a way to make people believe that lousy service is really fine dining.  Let’s get another bottle of wine.”  She reached over, snatched the bottle from the ice bucket, emptied it into her glass, and waved it in the air until the wine steward acknowledged.  Wayne, splitting with silent laughter, buried his face in his hands. 

“Now I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I?”

“Actually, I’m enjoying seeing you unwind and relax.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you let your hair down like this.”

“Is something wrong with my hair?”  She grabbed her purse.

“No, Mom.”  He chuckled.  “It’s just an expression.  You look fine.”   He glanced over her shoulder.  “Here come our dinners.”

She turned and looked.  “Well, it’s about goddamn time!”

Wayne laughed, then looked around, obviously chagrined.  “Mom, please kinda hold it down.”

“Your face is red.”