12.01.2007, 19:27
The Allegory Of Impressing Governed By Physical Expressions
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A Frown And A Step Back, A Wrinkle, A Sigh
Still, Richard knew his exact limitations with all of his dates and never cut across them. Some of his friends (just like a high percentage of the male earth population) divided women into two very simple categories: either bonkable or not. Latter with the subcategories kissable or not, first with the subcategories intelligent or not. Although, he found this classification shallow and cheap, Richard couldn’t deny that it was true somehow and sometimes he even found himself using it.
According to it he preferred dating women of category one, subcategory intelligent. They considered themselves as modern and independent, were a pleasure to talk to and (just like him) enjoyed life and dates and saw nothing wrong in having some fun (with all meanings of the word) without serious strings being attached. Whenever he met a member of category one, subcategory not so intelligent, he didn’t say no either (he was a man after all and they had to offer a lot in the physical section), although they hardly interested him on a higher level. Still, he held them in regard as the pleasure was two-sided, easy to get and none of the girls ever would’ve considered a joint night as a promise for anything.
Because of promises and seeing them, Richard hardly ever dated category two. Of course, there were some beautiful and intelligent women in it, too, and he enjoyed being around them, talking, dancing and flirting with them. Unfortunately most of them considered three dates and a kiss good-night (if they were kissable) as a promise for a serious relationship or even an unofficial promise of a marriage however. Something he wasn’t willing to offer as he already gave a girl the unofficial promise of a marriage. A very unofficial promise, they never even had seriously talked about this subject, still Richard was sure as hell that he and Pennilyn Lott would marry one day. Well, as soon as he had his graduation and a job and she’d be back from Florence, Italy where she was studying.
Meanwhile, both had agreed on going their separate ways, leaving each other all freedoms. Pennilyn, because she knew that Richard had to sow his wild oats; Richard because he trusted Pennilyn and as they’ve practically been a couple since they were 17, he knew her well enough to know that she was definitely category two. Kissable maybe, very kissable actually, but no chance that even the most versed Italian Casanova would be able to talk her into category one. Even he hadn’t managed that so far, neither during her occasional visits home after months of separation nor during his visits in Florence last summer and this spring. But as he knew he’d have her in their wedding night at the latest, he easily could live with it.
With Emily Johnson, the girl he had met after the field hockey game between Smith and Wellesley, he wasn’t quite sure in which category she belonged, yet. Actually he could already tell that she wasn’t dumb, their conversation and her sharp answers had proved that. As she had shown temper, he hoped she’d be a category one girl, but then her conversation with that guy had been a typical category two talk. No matter what category she was in, he absolutely felt that she was dating material and he’d have a great afternoon and hopefully evening with her.
At least her looks confirmed Richard’s hopes and presumptions. A red hair-band with white dots on it tied back her long, open hair and the light summer dress with the same colour and muster simply looked gorgeous on her. It accentuated her physical amenities perfectly, a paradigm for elegant and unobtrusive sexiness. Next to her promising looks, the date turned out to be a disappointment however. The girl he walked through the art gallery of Yale with had nothing in common with the girl he had asked out. It was as if she had sent her well-bread, polite and hence boring twin instead of coming herself. Talking of category two, not kissable. Not even interesting.
Regardless, Richard ran his well proven program. He talked about the pictures in the gallery, about those in Europe, about the Louvre and Titian. He tried to be charming and witty, without any success, not only did she bore him; he seemed to bore her as well, which mortified him somehow. As they stopped in front of Pollaiuolo’s Hercules and Deianira he decided to start a last attempt before ending this debacle of a date.
“Hercules and Deianira by Antonia Pollaiuolo, circa 1470” he explained with a frown and took a step back, examining the painting intensely with a wrinkle on his face, sighing almost ecstatic after some seconds of silence. Something he did in front of most paintings as Emily had realized amazedly. “One of the most beautiful paintings in this gallery. One of the most tragic love stories in the mythology.”
“Is it?”, she got into it, hoping that she had found the decent tone that showed well-educated interest but not the enthusiasm she felt about the painting as well as seeing the original for the first time and the fact that Richard shared her opinion upon it. Sometimes she really wished that her nature would be more like the one everyone expected her, expected a young Lady to have, because the pretending tired her – especially today as Richard talked about so many things whether she had a completely different opinion about or that made her heart jump out of acceptance, because she had thought she was the only one with that opinion so far.
“Yes”, he replied rather disappointed upon her cold and somehow disinterested reaction. “Do you know the legend of Hercules and Deianira?”
Emily shook her head, a brief glance into his eyes. The blue was really unusual for a man, she realized, just like several times before since their date lasted. “No”, she lied as she was curious to hear is version. Besides, she liked the way he explained things, the sound and expression in his voice. She couldn’t remember ever having dated or even met a man (despite her father, but Baldwin Johnson did not count), who had such a distinct knowledge of art and the stories behind it and it impressed her somehow.
“Deianira was Hercules’ wife”, he started to tell a story he had told dozens of times before in front of this painting. “The centaur is Nessus. Hercules killed him with his bow when he tried to kiss Deianira while carrying her over the river Euenos and she cried for help, just like Pollaiuolo painted it on this painting. Dying the centaur told Deianira that his blood had the magic power that would guarantee her Hercules’ everlasting love, if she would put it onto his shirt. She didn’t use it however until a servant told her that Hercules brought his old love as slave to their court in order to make her his lover. Deianira got jealous and send Hercules a shirt with the blood of the centaur - who had lied to her”, a short, dramatic pause. “Instead of making Hercules loving her forever, the centaurs’ blood slowly killed her husband. Broken by the fact that she had murdered the man she loved, Deianira killed herself with his sword.”
“An entertaining story behind a beautiful painting”, she said absentminded, while she actually and once again wondered why Deianira had been so stupid to trust someone, who had been shot by her husband.
Richard sighed, it really was no use and he had erred in Emily. No matter how great she looked, calling the legend of Deianira and Hercules “entertaining” showed a true lack of intellectual grasp. “Yes, it is”, he confirmed, already walking over to the next painting, wondering how he’d be able to end the afternoon as soon as possible.
Emily Johnson had a hard time to hide her disappointment, when Richard suggested driving her home the moment they’d left the gallery. Nevertheless she smiled and agreed politely. There was nothing else for her but to agree, she hardly could tell him that she didn’t want to go home yet. Getting kind of dumped was something she never had experienced before and it annoyed her a lot. Especially as she didn’t understand what had been going wrong. She had been the picture perfect lady during the entire afternoon, biting her tongue more than once, trying very hard to show her best manners after she’d acted so impolite during their first meeting. It couldn’t be her fault, she decided therefore, but Richard really must be the idiot she had considered him to be during their first conversation. A shame that she had wasted a Sunday afternoon, though it had been a quiet pleasant one until now, with him. That’s what happened, if she dated outside her system and she confirmed on oath that she never would do it again.
“Here we are”, Richard declared when they arrived at his car, opening the passenger door for her.
“Thank you”, she said and got in, wondering how she’d survive the long drive to Smith with that guy on her side. Unbelievable that she’d erred in him. Unbelievable that he even hadn’t invited her for a coffee. Unbelievably rude. What the hell was he thinking? For a moment she was tempted to give it to him straight, but she controlled herself. She had acted perfectly until now and she wouldn’t forget her manners just because of this idiot of a guy. It wasn’t worth it and she wouldn’t begrudge that to him. Afterwards he’d possibly think… heaven knows what he’d think and actually she couldn’t care less.
Still Emily was not really happy, when they finally arrived at Smith. Of course she was happy to get rid of him, but during the long and silent drive, she had enough time to go completely overboard for his impoliteness and it got harder and harder for her to keep it to herself. Hence, the first thing she did as soon as she closed the door of her apartment behind her was fizzing a thunderous “God”, while dashing her purse onto the commode.
“Did you have fun?”, her flatmate Melinda grinned.
“As much fun as you’d have at your execution. That man is probably the most impolite, ignorant idiot on this earth”, Emily got down on one of the sofas. “Can you believe that he even didn’t ask me to have a drink with him? There he schleps me through this museum for almost two hours and it even didn’t come to his mind that I might be thirsty. Not to talk of the fact that it would’ve been the proper procedure to invite me for a drink. And not with one word, not with a single syllable he mentioned that he enjoyed the afternoon or that he wants to see me again.”
Melinda’s grin grew bigger. “Now that’s what it is about.”
“What do you mean?”
“It annoys you that there’s a guy who doesn’t like you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Come on”, she laughed and put away her book. “I saw you fretting about teachers, grades and classmates. Not to talk of waiters and C.C. Everetts. But never about a guy.”
“Because no one ever dared to turn me down”, Emily confessed offended. “He had no right to do so.”
“But you turn guys down as well.”
“That’s something different.”
“So you’re allowed to break hearts, but no one else is?”
Emily bristled with slight amusement. “First of all: I never broke any hearts. Second: My heart isn’t broken.”
“I did not say it was.”
“You suggested it.”
“If you say so”, she lifted a brow, giving her friend an intense glare.
“God, Sweetie”, Emily sighed. “Don’t give me that look.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Put that in the past tense.”
“I see, I see.”
“Don’t make such a fuss about it”, she demanded. “Of course I liked him; otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to date him. But it turned out that he isn’t likeable at all and there you have the end of the story.”
“Well, at least you dated him because you liked him and not because of his bank account.”
“I never dated a man because of his account”, Emily denied first, although Melinda knew her well enough to know the truth and gave her one of her looks again. “Maybe earlier”, she agreed therefore. “But not anymore. Just look at Robert. I like him. I really do.”
“But you aren’t in love with him.”
“You don’t have to be in love to marry. Love is something you grow into.”
“Welcome back to 1845.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. I just don’t understand you.”
“And as we had this talk dozens of times before, I doubt you ever will”, Emily replied as patient as possible. “We’re simply seeing this issue in a much too different light to agree ever.”
“And I simply don’t see what’s wrong with falling in love.”
“It complicates things.”
“It’s wonderful”, Melinda exclaimed.
“Tell me what was wonderful about you crying your eyes out, because Steven bumped you.”
“Well, that part really wasn’t fun. But the time before was worth it.”
“You’re helplessly romantic, Sweetie.”
“And you’re helplessly pragmatic.”
“Because I like it that way”, Emily got up. “And now excuse me please; I’ve no intentions to fail in the test, because I wasted my time with an idiot.”
“Why thank you.”
“You know, I was talking about him.”
“I know”, Melinda nodded with a smile, watching Emily vanishing in her room. She’d had given up all hope already, to see Emily liking a guy enough to loose her temper and now – even if it was because of her hurt pride only, that was really something.
Despite Melinda’s new insight and Emily’s anger, the whole affair, Richard, would’ve probably been forgotten all too soon, if there hadn’t been Robert Tadman and an invitation to a tennis match with his sister Moira and one of her gallants. A gallant who turned out to be no one less than Richard Gilmore.
To be continued
ATN: Ach, Karana ist das
Auch wieder etwas gelernt 
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