A LIVING NOVEL
“I would rather have my
own millions, and go forgirls in their thirties if not someone your age.
If you had millions, women down here would crawl all over you.
confessed, “is that I‟m
not really interested in scraping upthe millions or o
wning the property it would buy.”
your problem. You are a low-class loser.
I would not mind if a foundation would own everything I use and foot my bills until my demise. It would get millions annually from franchises, licenses,speeches, book sales, and the like.
“Do you want rice or couscous?”
(End of conversation).# Age was a sensitive subject for Paul and Helene, and, curiously, more so forHelene at 53 than for Paul at 60. They realized they were in fact growing older whenconfronted with age discrimination, not to mention the mirror on the wall. But Paul was too immature or foolish to take his age seriously for long. Helene asked him for
his age soon after they met. “Sixty.” She must have heard “fifty,” for she later said, inpassing, “After all, you at fifty are younger than I am.” He supposed she made theremark in jest, and retorted fancifully, “Forsooth you are my big sister.” But one
Wednesday evening at her place she put down her glass of red wine and turned to him with great deliberation to firmly ask, as if to catch a boy in a fib,
“Paul, just how old
Paul innocently replied.
“You lied to me!” screamed a suddenly enraged Helene. “You said you werefifty!”
said that I was fifty, and I thought you were kidding, so I strung along to please you,
Paul literally gasped out his excuse.But she was blind to any evidence offered in opposition to her righteousindignation.
“No, you lied!”
“Oh, for crying out loud, our age isn‟t important,” Paul pleaded, seeing an
argument coming that he could not win
no matter how persuasive a defensive pleamight be, no argument may sway a woman who must always be right or fallcompletely apart in recognition of a chink in her shining armor.
“That is not the point! The point is your dishonesty –
you lied to me! I can‟ttrust you. You are not a gentleman! A gentleman would have said, „I‟m
than you.‟ Get out! Get lost!” She pointed to the door.
“Aw, Helene, please don‟t do this again,” Paul whined, remembering that he
was kicked out on another Wednesday evening after she invited him over for dinner:
she had called herself “fat,” a
nd he replied, intending to flatter her, that he preferred