Maggots

We met at a country club party. I was new to the neighborhood and had joined for the swimming pool. Living in the country club area and belonging to the club were luxuries I could only recently afford. People were friendly enough, but most of them knew each other well, so I was kind of an outsider. He was tall, muscular, had deep blue eyes and dark hair and goatee. He made strong eye contact when he introduced himself, shook my hand, and gave me a business card. His name was Arnold Whiting, and he was a financial advisor.

“Do you need a financial advisor?”

“Thank you, but no. I have one that I trust.”

I gave him my business card. “My name is Judy. I’m a fiction writer.”

He took the card. “Fiction is a maggot. You need to get ahead in the world.”

I laughed. “Fiction serves important functions in society and my work is on the lists of bestsellers.”

“Oh, good for you, then. You know, you are beautiful.”

“You look good, too, but I don’t think we have much in common.”

He motioned around the room“Except that we are both new here.”

“You noticed?”

“Let me get you a glass of wine. Do you prefer Merlot or Chardonnay?”

“Chardonnay, thank you.”

I don’t know if it was the wine, as I usually don’t drink, but Arnold was full of funny stories and kept me laughing through the evening, though the next day I couldn’t remember what he had said. When it was about ten, I reluctantly said I had to turn in. Arnold asked me if I could get home alone okay, and I assured him I was fine.

The next day, Arnold called and asked if we could meet for lunch. I said my days are structured until about six in the evening. He suggested we have dinner at a nearby steak house. There, again, I found myself laughing and enjoying his company, although later I couldn’t remember what was so funny. He had done a lot of traveling. That may have been the basis of funny misunderstandings. After dinner, he gave me a short but sensual kiss. I realized I was falling in love with him.

After that date, Arnold called me daily, though always after six. We talked about our days. He seemed interested in what went into my writing, and he always had amusing stories. Part of what was funny was that whenever I brought up my ideals, like authenticity, compassion and kindness, he would say, “That sounds like a maggot,” like he did about writing.

One night, about a week and a half after we had met, Arnold said, “I’ve fallen in love with you. I hope it is reciprocated.”

“Yes,” I answered. “I’ve fallen in love, too.”

“Great! Let’s go to Las Vegas and elope!”

I laughed some more, to which he said, “I’m serious. I mean it. Why not? We’re both in love. We should marry.”

I’m usually not impulsive, but he had a point. It sounded romantic. He said he’d call back as soon as he bought the airline tickets. When he called back, he had tickets as well as hotel reservations for three nights.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I said. “But I don’t like gambling and don’t want to go to any casinos.”

“I don’t gamble either, but it is a fun city to walk around, with some good restaurants. The hotel suite should be nice, too.”

We got married in a small chapel, where another couple witnessed our marriage and we witnessed theirs. In the hotel suite, the lovemaking was passionate and satisfying, and we went for long walks around the city.

On the flight back, we got into an argument about where we would live. We finally agreed to live in his house, but I would go to my house every day to write.

Arnold’s house was larger than mine and it was immaculate. It turned out he used the same housekeeping service as I did. The furnishings were simple, modern and elegant, but I was used to the mix of furnishings I had, which I found more comfortable.

Arnold said, “This would be a great house to raise some children in, wouldn’t it?”

I was taken aback. “Children?”

Arnold stepped back, put his hands on my arms and looked me in the eyes. I hadn’t thought of children, but with a few moments of reflection, I realized I would love to have children with him. If I didn’t, I should have thought of it before the trip to Las Vegas.

“Children would be wonderful.”

Arnold held me in his arms and kissed me passionately. We made love on the living room floor. I felt enraptured. We talked afterwards. I happened to bring up that I had written a blurb for another writer’s novel.

Arnold drew back. “Why did you do that? That writer is your competition.”

Suddenly I knew he wasn’t joking and felt compelled to argue the point. “The publishing business isn’t like that. Encouraging people to read a book, any book, encourages reading in general, and a good book should be read. It improves society.”

Arnold got up and started dressing. “I know how the world works. I understood, when as a teenager, I read about the legalists or materialists in ancient China. You have to fight for your own gain, not for others’ gain.”

I dressed myself as well. “The writing business isn’t a zero-sum activity. I have always found support in the writing community. There’s no reward for isolating oneself.”

I got my purse and luggage. “I’m going to go home tonight. I’ve missed several days of writing, and that puts me out of sorts.”

“You aren’t being a good wife.”

“Well, you aren’t being a good human being.”

“Being good to all means being impoverished. You have to fight to prevail. That’s why I belong to Proud Boys.”

“I’m sorry you think that way. I’m sorry I thought you were joking all along. You are outrageous. We are finished!”

I started to walk home with my luggage and purse, tears running down my face. After I walked a few blocks, a car stopped and the woman driving opened her window.

“Could I give you a lift?”

I nodded. “Thank you. I hope my address isn’t out of your way.”

I put in the luggage and sat in the back seat.

She turned back to me. “What’s wrong? Why are you walking with your luggage and crying?”

“I fell in love at first sight, got married, and then found out he is for everything I’m against. He sees everything as a fierce competition to the end and he belongs to a racist group. It took me a while to realize he wasn’t joking when he said unthinkable things. I can’t live with that, and I certainly can’t raise children that way.”

The woman looked sympathetic. “That’s frightful, but I can help.”

She pulled a business card out of her purse. “I’m a lawyer. We can establish a legal separation and eventually a divorce.”

I sighed with relief. “Thank you. I need to separate myself from him.”

We got a legal separation the following week. When I realized I was pregnant, I thought it might be my only chance to have a child. I didn’t want to cross paths with Arnold and risk him trying to get custody, so I moved from the suburb of Raleigh to Asheville, which has a creative vibe. The following year, I received notice that the divorce was final. I put the legal document down on the dining room table, picked up the baby, and did a happy dance.