B

by Jonathan Baumbach

  B: That’s the problem, isn’t it? Writers find it hard to be themselves in real life.

  —

  Word reached B that his former wife was working on a novel that touched on the break up of their marriage. The following is the opening of an early draft of the manuscript as he imagined it.

  It’s true that I had fallen in love with Sam, who was also my husband’s friend and that I tried to keep B from knowing (and did my damndest to make it so obvious that only someone emotionally blind would miss the point), that I told B I could no longer live with him, that’s true too, that in my heart’s text I had erased all traces of him from my life, all that is undeniable, but B was not blameless in all this. For one, he was altogether too eager to take what I said in the most literal light. For two, for reasons of denial, he couldn’t assimilate that my disaffection was irreversible and not susceptible to changes in the weather. I had a list of grievances as long as your arm. I hated B for every reason I could conceive, some in obvious contradiction to others. Hate of course is a great uniter of oppositions. I mourned his absence, I grieved for his death, and I wondered—this, the most troubling of all—how someone who wasn’t there could take up so much space. These conflicted feelings, for which he was responsible, embittered me.

  One night, he came home from his therapy group and discovered me on the phone talking to my lover. When he came toward me, I motioned him to go away. He left the room but then almost immediately returned. For someone who didn’t exist, he was everywhere. I again motioned him to leave me in peace. He took a threatening posture, which made me laugh. –He won’t let us talk, I said into the phone. I’ll call you back after he goes to sleep.

  After I hung up the phone, he knocked over a chair and moved off, hunched over with the weight of his defeat. –Big man, I heard myself say in no voice I had ever used before. You’re nothing. You’re nothing. You’re nothing.

  How much I felt for him at that moment!

  XIII. WEDDINGS

  1.

  B is dancing with a former wife, the mother of the bride, at his daughter’s wedding. This is her second wedding, his daughter’s second wedding, and the former wife he is dancing with is the second of his three former wives. He wonders if there isn’t some imponderable significance in the numerical coincidence.

  Though he can’t really dance, they are playing something slow and he enjoys the risks involved, the embarrassment avoided, in faking his way through.

  –One thing we always did well together, his ex says, is dance.

  –You know, he says, I can’t remember ever dancing with you before.

  –How is that supposed to make me feel, she says. I remember three occasions at least that we danced together. My sister’s wedding for one. You danced with everyone that night.

  –I accept your version, he says, wanting for the sake of the occasion to avoid a fight, though his dancing with everyone, as she puts it, seems out of character.

  –You were in your cups that evening, she says. That’s why you don’t remember anything. If you hadn’t had a few drinks, you probably wouldn’t be dancing with me now. She likes to dispute and what he does remember of their marriage was the endless succession of petty squabbles they had in the seven almost eight years they endured together.

  –I can tell from the way you’re dancing, she stage whispers, that you’re doing this out of obligation. I don’t need that from you. I really don’t. There is a live orchestra—a combo really—and the songs go on longer than the anticipated three minutes, sometimes sliding from one into another like a medley, making it difficult to determine the conclusion of one dance and the beginning of the next.

  –Are you getting tired? he asks her.

  –Are you looking for a way out? she counters.

  Eyes roving idly over his former wife’s shoulder, he notices that his daughter, the bride, is dancing with her husband’s father and that the man is holding her closer than seems appropriate. He passes on this disturbing observation to his partner. An attractive woman dancing with a much older man winks at B as she glides by.

  –You would think that, she says. That’s so like you.

  –Look for yourself, he says, turning them both around, the move only felicitous in its imagining. They stumble awkwardly into their present configuration, brush into another couple that apologizes as they hit them.

  –Do you see what I mean? he asks.

  –Everything’s a fog without my glasses, she says. Besides, the man’s a professional ballroom dancer. It’s impersonal. Whatever he’s doing is like a doctor’s examination.

  –Do you really want your daughter to have a medical checkup from a ballroom dancer, he says.

  –I’m not going to deal with that, she says.

  The fox trot they have been approximating to some unrecognizable old favorite turns into The Anniversary Waltz, the emcee crooning the words in a self-congratulatory way, changing a word here and there to personalize the song. B has taken an instinctive dislike to this other father, this so-called dance pro, and he wonders what the groom makes of his father clutching his bride in this presumptuous way. Out of the corner of his eye, B notices the vapid boy on the sidelines flirting with one of the bridesmaids, Lisa, the sexiest of his daughter’s friends. Inappropriate behavior seems to run in the family.

  –Isn’t it traditional, B says, for the father of the bride to have the first dance with his daughter. His partner issues an exasperated sigh.

  –That’s just the point, she says. They didn’t want a traditional wedding. Haven’t you heard anything your daughter has said to you.

  –When this song is over, I’m going to dance with Sonya, He announces. I hope that doesn’t offend the gods of anti-tradition that hold sway here.

  –I think that’s a perfectly wonderful idea, she says.

  –Do you?

  –I do. But you need to be careful, you know that don’t you, not to ruin this evening for her. A marriage is a fragile thing as who knows better than you. Don’t behave the way my father did on our wedding night.

  Her remark, the intriguing senselessness of it, reminds B unhappily of old times. –I don’t remember your father misbehaving at our wedding, he says, taking the bait.

  –That doesn’t surprise me, she says. I wonder why. What happened at our wedding, it so happens, determined the ultimate fate of our marriage.

  –I don’t believe that, he says. What could your father have possibly done that would have such an impact on our marriage?

  When she makes a point of not answering him, he rephrases the question.

  –Let’s forget it, she says. This is the not the time or place to take the skeletons out of the closet. Anyway, it was not so much what my father did that ruined things as what you did in response to what he did.

  –I have no idea what you’re talking about, he says.

  –Of course you don’t, she says. That’s the whole point. If you did, you might have been able to sustain a relationship with someone.

  B’s memory of their wedding celebration is shadowy so he is vulnerable to whatever charge of bad conduct she wishes to attribute to him. Still, he’d rather know what she has in mind (crazy as it may be) than to be left hanging. –So? he asks.

  –You know more than you’re willing to own up to, she says. Whatever else you are, you’re not stupid. (Whatever else is he?)

  –My memory is a disaster area, he reminds her. I have no idea what your father did that night that caused such a problem. If it was so troubling, why didn’t you say something at the time?

  –If you didn’t know what it was, there was hardly any point in mentioning it afterward, she says. You do remember that he cut in on us when we were dancing. You do remember that much, don’t you?

  His will to remember her father cutting in on them while they danced offers him the illusion that he did. He even remembers, or imagines he does, her father tapping him on the shoulder in time-honored fashion. –It did seem a bit competitive of him, B says.
r />   –Then why didn’t you stick to your guns? she says bitterly, digging a knuckle into his back.

  –How was I to know you didn’t want to dance with him?

  –That’s not the issue, she says, and you know it.

  But he doesn’t know what the issue is and that, in his view, has always been the problem between them. If you’re not in touch with the nuances of her private world, you will inevitably miss the point in some obscurely unredeemable way. He feels a poke in the shoulder blades which irritates him no end, particularly when it repeats a second and third time.

  Eventually, he stops dancing and turns to see who wants to cut in. It is the groom’s father, the man who had been dancing with his daughter and B yields to him with a mix of relief and reluctance. As soon as the man dances off with his former wife, she gives B an unforgiving glance over her partner’s shoulder. He surveys the room, looking for his daughter Sonya who seems to have disappeared at her own wedding. That he can’t pick her out of the crowd worries him. He notices that the groom is still chatting with one of his daughter’s friends and he ambles over in their direction.

  –Have you seen Sonya, Gregg, B asks him.

  –I thought she was dancing with you, he says.

  –The truth is, we had a fight a half hour ago and we’ve been avoiding each other since.

  –On your wedding day, for God’s sake. I’ve never heard anything so stupid.

  –That’s the kind of thing my father would say to me, he says, and walks away as if B had slapped him.

  –Sonya’s in the Ladies’ Room, Mr. B, Lisa says. If you want, I’ll go get her for you.

  –I can wait until she comes out, he says.

  –Suit yourself, Mr. B. I’ll tell you this much, I don’t think she’s coming out any time soon.

  –I was hoping to dance with her, he says. You know, the traditional father-daughter dance at a wedding.

  –I didn’t have a traditional father myself so I don’t know anything about that, Lisa says. If you’re looking to dance, Mr. B, I’ll dance with you.

  –That’s very kind of you, Lisa...but...

  Before the thought is finished they are on the floor doing one of those high energy rock-and-roll dances B usually does his best (or worst) to avoid. He watches what the guy alongside him is doing and imitates his moves. —Way to go, Mr. B, Lisa says.

  –What were you and Gregg talking about? B asks her, but the noise of the music and the distance between them makes it hard for her to hear him and she shrugs her response. B shrugs back as if it were a phrase in the dance and after a while he notices the man next to him is also making shrugging gestures.

  Lisa flashes him an encouraging smile. B thinks he sees his daughter in the far corner of the room, her back to him, talking to someone from her mother’s family. He wants to go to her but it seems unacceptable to break ranks while the music is still holding sway.

  When he broke up with his second wife and moved out of the house, Sonya held it against him for the longest time. So he improvises a slide step as if it proceeded inevitably from the shrug, as a means of edging closer to his daughter. Lisa picks up on the slide step after awhile and embellishes on it and so between them they have this complicated series of steps going that takes all his concentration to perform.

  Someone bumps him from behind and, in delayed reaction, he loses his balance, finds himself tumbling in slow motion to the glossy wood floor. His right elbow takes the brunt of the hit. When B gets to his feet, the music has stopped and almost everyone on the dance floor seems to be looking his way. Discombobulated, he limps to the sidelines, looking for a place to sit down. As he passes through the crowd, he hears his name echoing in muffled whispers, the tone mildly disdainful, though it’s possible, he acknowledges, that they’re talking about something else altogether. An elderly woman offers him her seat and he reluctantly declines the offer.

  As soon as the pain in his elbow subsides, B resumes his search for Sonya. Though he continues to limp, he has no recollection of hurting his leg. His former wife appears, moving toward him with an urgency that makes him want to run for his life.

  –I want you to talk to your daughter, she says.

  –I’d be glad to if I could find her, he says.

  –This is serious, she says, taking his arm. You have to tell her that she can’t leave her marriage because of a silly argument. She won’t listen to me. Sonya is standing behind her mother, staring into space, wearing an unconvincing public smile.

  –What’s the matter, darling? he says.

  –Nothing, she says in a small voice.

  –We haven’t done the traditional father-daughter dance yet, he says. The evening’s not complete without it.

  –Please, she says. The way I feel the last thing I want to do is dance. Don’t you understand anything?

  –Don’t speak like that to your father, says his former wife.

  –Daddy doesn’t mind, she says. Do you, Daddy?

  B minds everything, though it seems unfatherlike to say so. –If she doesn’t want to marry Gregg, he says to her mother, I don’t see any reason to try to persuade her otherwise.

  –She’s already married to Gregg, his ex reminds him. They just had a little lovers’ quarrel. It’s our job to help them make it up.

  –What if she doesn’t want to make it up?

  –Of course she wants to make it up.

  They each look to Sonya for validation of their opposing claims. –I can’t stand to watch you fight, she says, sighing. I’m going to go somewhere else. She walks off.

  –Why do you think this is fighting, his ex calls after her, and then walks off herself in the same direction. He watches them muddling through the crowd in single file, until they disappear down the aisle that has the Restrooms sign. Before B can trail after them, which is a budding intention, Lisa slide steps in front.

  –I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Mr. B, she says. Dr. Carsik, Gregg’s daddy, wants to talk to you man to man. Those are his words, man to man, not mine.

  –Why didn’t he approach me himself?

  –He has this crazy idea that you don’t like him, she says.

  He doesn’t, though he has no idea why the man thinks he knows that. Dr. Carsik appears and holds out his hand to him.

  –My friends call me Buddy, he says, squeezing B’s hand in a viselike grip.

  –What do people who hardly know you call you? he asks.

  He waves a scolding finger at B. –You’re living up—or is it down?—to your reputation, he says.

  Lisa steps between them. –Dr. C would like you to talk to Gregg, she says to him. He thinks Gregg will listen to you.

  –This is all Lisa’s idea, Buddy says. She has the idea that Gregg admires you because you’re some kind of writer. Happens I’m skeptical but anything is possible with Gregg.

  2.

  Since no one knows where Gregg is at the moment, they go their separate ways to search for him or at least that is the agreed-on plan. In B’s private agenda, Gregg is not the primary option. So, indifferent to finding him, he is the first of the searchers to spot Gregg, who is coming out of the Men’s Room, sucking on the butt end of a tired cigarette. He considers calling out to him when an attractive woman whom he’d noticed earlier on the dance floor comes up to him.

  –You don’t remember having met me before, do you? she says. You have, you know.

  There is something familiar about her, but he can’t come up with a name. –I should know you, he says. Give me a minute.

  –I was at your sister-in-law’s wedding, she says. You danced with me. I’m a second cousin of your former wife.

  –That was a long time ago, he says, reading her narrow interesting face to no avail.

  –I was younger then, she says.

  An image comes into his head of a seven or eight-year-old child holding out her arms and whirling herself around. He had gone up to her and asked her what she was doing.

  –Dancing, she said.

&nbs
p; Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Gregg and Sonya talking to each other, their voices hushed, Sonya’s hand covering her mouth. He has the sense, evidence to the contrary, that she is crying. No tears are apparent.

  –Your name is Anna, he says, the name arriving from wherever unbidden.

  –You were so nice to me—that part I can see you don’t remember—I was going to warn you not to marry my cousin, she says, her smile unbending. That would have been presumptuous of me, wouldn’t it.

  –It would have saved me a lot of trouble, he says.

  –We all need our trouble, she says.

  –Tell me what you’ve been doing, he says. Bring me up to date.

  She laughs at his request. –I haven’t done anything that’s worth telling about.

  –Are you married? he asks.

  –Well...yes, she says. Sort of.

  –How can you be sort of married? Either you are or you aren’t.

  –It’s not a factor in my life, she says.

  Before he can ask her to explain herself, Sonya comes over, Gregg standing (his head turned away) a few feet behind.

  –We need to get out of here, Dad, she whispers to him. Could we take your car? I promise we’ll bring it back tomorrow.

  –So you’ve made up? he says, secretly disappointed.

  –Sort of, she says. Once we get out of here, things are bound to be better.

  What can he do but give her the keys and an over elaborate description of where he parked the car. –Do you want to tell me where you’re going?

  She shakes her head.

  –We want to go somewhere no one knows about, she says, giving him a quick hug and then scooting away, Gregg in tow. He watches them collect their coats and leave the building, feeling inexplicably heartbroken.

  So B doesn’t get to dance with his daughter at her wedding.

  Anna, who has been standing with her back to him, comes over to mumble something about what a pleasure it was to see him again, which means of course that she also is planning to leave.

  –How about a dance before you take off? he says.