The Queen’s Code

by Alison A Armstrong

  Tears streamed down her face. But Karen was more confused than ever.

  Glad for her foresight, she grabbed tissues and wiped her eyes. She said tentatively, “I don't mean to be a jerk. Honestly. But, I'm lost. If you're always trying to impress me, how come you don't take out the trash?”

  The look on his face was priceless.

  He blurted out in undisguised bewilderment, “That would impress you?”

  KIMBERLEE wasn't looking forward to this week's assignment, but she found abundant opportunities to observe how and when other women emasculated men. At first, she didn't even have to leave the house. Besides Hollywood blockbusters, which showed a multitude of young women “putting men in their place,” she had her own memories to sort through. The most colorful recollections were years’ worth of interactions she'd witnessed between Melissa and Scott.

  In the past, Kimberlee always sympathized with Melissa about her inattentive, work-obsessed husband. But as she played her own internal movie, in light of her new perspective, she saw things she had missed before. Like the other night, when Melissa had no interest in Scott's work. Kimberlee was surprised that Scott spoke with such enthusiasm.

  Was that always there? This passion? But no one was listening? She thought if she was as engaged and dedicated as he, she'd spend her time with folks who shared that passion as well. And as little as possible with someone who bitched about it nonstop.

  It occurred to her that Melissa may well be the source of the lack of intimacy she often complained about. Suddenly, Kimberlee had a vision of a tiger bemoaning that no one would make love to it, all the while having its claws and teeth bared in anger. She considered how Melissa's attitude toward Scott might affect John and Bradley, their young sons. Could they be emasculated by that?

  Her research included a short trip to the grocery store, where she witnessed four different incidences of emasculation. Following her assignment, she paid particular attention to the way the men reacted:

  A young mother roughly forced her son back into the child's seat of the shopping cart, saying, “Why can't you sit still like your sister?” When the woman turned away, Kimberlee saw the young boy angrily pinch his baby sister.

  In line in front of her, an elderly, arthritic gentleman slowly pulled the exact amount for his groceries out of his wallet. As the clerk rolled her eyes at his pace and made an impatient “tsk” sound, his hand began to shake and he fumbled even more.

  At the check stand next to her, Kimberlee heard the box boy offer to help out. The thirty-something woman responded harshly, “I can get it myself.” The teenager slumped and cast his eyes to the floor.

  A middle-aged woman unloading her cart behind Kimberlee suddenly exclaimed to her husband, “Why didn't you get the family size? Didn't you look at the price per pound? No wonder we can't get by on your tiny paycheck!” Kimberlee watched as the man's collarbones appeared to be crushed and his shoulders slumped inward. Unexpectedly heartsick, she realized what “crestfallen” looked like.

  At work, Kimberlee watched as the women communicated their disapproval of the men. Passing by without any acknowledgement, as if the men were not worth notice. Ignoring a comment or suggestion, as if it weren't even spoken. Rolling their eyes when the men joked around, as if that conduct were, obviously, ridiculous.

  The female processors treated the salesmen with overt hostility. When one of them came in after making a big sale, many of them turned away from his boisterous self-congratulation. But one woman said loudly, “Yeah, well, you're still behind your quota for the year,” and watched his reaction. When he slumped and retreated, she looked around victoriously for approval from the other women.

  Kimberlee was fascinated by her observations. Whether by word or gesture, tone or attitude, men were easily emasculated. They appeared to be more affected by women they cared about, but they were also vulnerable to total strangers.

  She was most surprised, though, by her reaction to seeing men being diminished. What she had accepted as normal behavior, only days before, was now appalling. She was shocked for them, angry for them and even hurt for them.

  She was compelled to come to their defense; to explain to the women how they weren't necessarily misbehaving. But as she imagined herself doing that, she had no alternative explanation for their conduct. She was returned to the question Karen had given her: “What if there's a good reason for everything men do?” More than ever, she wanted to know what those reasons were.

  RAUL was looking for more opportunities to train Kimberlee, now that he'd revealed his intention to groom her as his replacement. Plus the change in her demeanor made her more approachable. He honestly enjoyed spending time with her in a way he hadn't before, in all the years she'd worked for him.

  Hence, he was completely off guard when she reacted strongly to him telling her a story about his own early days at the company. She'd rolled her eyes and said snidely, “I know this story. Heck, I could tell it myself, I've heard it that many times.”

  Taken aback, his hand had immediately gone to his upper chest. He'd sputtered in defense, “Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you.”

  Even more surprising than the attack was her response to his reaction. She had looked aghast, hastily apologized and fled his office.

  CLAUDIA was immediately concerned at the distress she heard in Kimberlee's voice on the other end of the phone. “Grandmother, can you talk? I mean, Claudia?”

  “Yes, dear. What is it?”

  “Umm. I did something bad. And I'm not sure how to fix it. And I want to understand why it happened in the first place. And I'm hoping I don't have to wait till tomorrow night.”

  Sitting on the couch, Claudia responded. “I never want you to suffer longer than you have to. Tell me what happened.”

  She listened in amazement as Kimberlee relayed to her the results of her observations and the change in her own reactions to emasculation. She was happy for her, knowing that this shift would reap benefits for the rest of her life.

  “Then what is the problem, dear?”

  Claudia could feel Kimberlee's embarrassment as she said, “To put it bluntly, I cut off my boss's balls. And when I realized what I'd done, I apologized pathetically and literally ran. Not too dignified.”

  “Okay,” Claudia began, nodding even though Kimberlee couldn't see her, “I understand. Not something you would want on your resume.”

  “Even worse than that; he's been especially great with me lately!” Kimberlee responded. “He's grooming me to replace him. The job I've always wanted.”

  “Can you see what triggered you?” Claudia asked.

  After a few moments, Kimberlee answered. “Raul was chewing gum and telling me a story I've heard at least a dozen times. Does he think I'm stupid? Or have a lousy memory? Or, am I so forgettable that he doesn't remember telling me?”

  Claudia could not suppress a chuckle. “Ah, that one. Yes, I know that offense quite well.”

  “See what I mean? How else could I react?” Kimberlee asked.

  Claudia settled into the cushions. “Actually, when you understand what a man is doing while telling a story, it is easier to respond more graciously.”

  “Huh?” a perplexed Kimberlee responded. “Is this a ‘what if there's a good reason’ thing?”

  “Absolutely. Do you want to know what it is? Pretty interesting, actually,” Claudia offered.

  “Yes. Please!” Kimberlee exclaimed. These were words that, over the years, Claudia would gladly have given an eyetooth to hear.

  “Kimberlee, men use words for different reasons than women. What you encountered is what we call the ‘Story Telling Phase of the Hunt.’”

  “Huh?”

  “For now, suffice it to say that most men think and behave as hunters and warriors. In each phase of the hunt, language has a different purpose. In the phase called Story Telling, a man is reliving a particularly vivid challenge or accomplishment. In the telling of it, he may be doing one or more of several things: teaching a moral le
sson, proving the value of a method, encouraging others, or empowering himself with the juices — the hormones — that telling the story causes to surge in his body. It is a way of recovering the power or energy spent in the hunt.”

  “But why does he tell it over and over again?” Kimberlee asked impatiently.

  Claudia laughed. “With that many benefits, why not?”

  After a long pause, Kimberlee said, “I'm looking at this ‘as compared to the Perfect Person’ aren't I?”

  Claudia smiled to herself, uncrossed her fingers, and nodded. “Yes, you are. As compared to the female-based Perfect Person who never repeats her stories. In fact, women are sensitive to this such that we will even say, ‘Forgive me if I have told you this before.’ But that is because women have a different purpose for speaking than men have.”

  “What do you mean?” Kimberlee asked.

  “Women can be hunters. But estrogen shapes the brain more for gathering and tending. If you look at women as gatherers, much of their behavior becomes more obvious. There is not nearly the danger, challenge or excitement in a gather as in a hunt. But there is an enormous amount of information and experience that goes into that basket with the fruits and nuts. Upon returning from a ‘meadow,’ a gatherer will relay to other members of her tribe the pertinent information. She expects others to listen and retain it. To repeat herself would be to insult their intelligence or memories, same as she would be insulted.”

  Claudia could almost hear Kimberlee's mind whirring as she processed all this. She loved how bright and quick her granddaughter was. That must be why she gets triggered by anything that smacks of “stupid,” she thought with compassion.

  “You're saying that Raul probably doesn't think I'm slow or can't remember. Nor has he forgotten that he told me this before. He doesn't relate to story telling the way I do. It has a different purpose for him and he's fulfilling that.”

  Claudia could feel her own dimples as she grinned in satisfaction. “Well done.”

  “But what about that little teensy-weensy, testicle-harvesting part? Where I said I'd heard the story so many times I could tell it? What do I do about that?” Kimberlee begged.

  “How did Raul react?”

  “Hmm. He kinda grabbed his chest, up high like, and looked like he'd been pushed back. He mumbled something about being sorry to bore me.”

  “Oh dear,” Claudia said sadly.

  “Why? What'd I do?”

  “It wasn't ‘teensy weensy’ as you said. Men experience happiness and power in their upper chest, shoulders and neck. Grabbing his upper chest that way would be in response to a sudden loss of power. As if the air was forced out of his lungs. What he might call ‘crushed.’ If you watch closely, their upper body is caving in.”

  “Yes! I saw that before! In the grocery store. A woman insulted her husband's paycheck,” Kimberlee exclaimed. “Oh dear, is right. What do I do now?”

  Claudia consciously released her attachment to the outcome. “It all depends on what you are committed to.”

  Kimberlee responded tentatively, “What do you mean?”

  “Most women consider it their right to treat men this way. To crush them. Or, at the very least, to diminish them. If you are going to defend your right to do what you did, there is no point in saying anything else to Raul about it.”

  There was a long silence. “And the alternative?” Kimberlee asked.

  Claudia took in a long breath. “If you choose to give up the right to emasculate men, all the men around you can become your teachers and trainers and support system in breaking a lifelong habit.”

  She waited, allowing Kimberlee to consider her words with their implied invitation.

  “How do I give up that right?”

  “You take a vow, renouncing it. That is the beginning of embracing the Queen's Code, which in addition to being a kind of secret code, is a code of honor and a code of conduct. Then you learn how to live from that vow, developing a new understanding of men and a new set of reactions to men.”

  Claudia heard Kimberlee sigh. “Is this what you've been leading us up to?”

  Claudia paused, considering, and chose complete honesty. “I hope so. I have never done this before.”

  After another silence, Kimberlee said, “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course, dear. It is a choice best considered at length. And any questions you have, I will happily answer tomorrow night.”

  KIMBERLEE thought Melissa sounded distraught.

  “I know things have been strange between us. And you're busy at work. But I didn't know who else to call.”

  “What's wrong?” Kimberlee asked and was reminded of reaching out to her grandmother in a similar state the night before. I hope I can be as useful.

  “Scott and I had a horrible fight and he hasn't been home since last night. I don't know what to do. The boys are asking for him and I keep saying he's working, as usual. But he's always home when they wake up in the morning. You know, that wrestling thing they do on the bed? Messes up the covers and drives me crazy.”

  Remembering how Claudia always waded in slowly, Kimberlee asked, “How can I help? What do you need?”

  Melissa asked somewhat skeptically, “Could you just listen?”

  Kimberlee had a feeling of dread. But she set it aside and made herself be the friend Melissa seemed to need. “Of course. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “Yeah, but I'm so pissed I could throw something. Let me close the door. I don't want the kids to hear me.”

  While Kimberlee waited for Melissa to return, she hunkered down for a diatribe. She wasn't disappointed.

  “It started when Scott brought two of the new guys from the office home for dinner. He likes to adopt these youngsters. Makes him feel like the big man, bringing them home to the little lady. As usual, he didn't give me more than a half-hour's notice but I still whipped up an impressive meal. The guys were gushing over how lucky he was to have me.”

  “That must have been nice,” Kimberlee offered.

  Melissa scoffed, “Nice? Nice? It would have been — if Scott had been quick to agree!”

  She practically screeched, “A polite, ‘I think that too’ would have been fine. But noooo! He'd already downed a few gin and tonics. He smirked. SMIRKED! Then made a bullshit snide remark about how he'd trade in some chicken cordon bleu for a blowjob!”

  Kimberlee suppressed a gasp.

  Melissa continued, “A blow job? Like he deserves a blow job? All he says to me for weeks are things like, ‘Did you pick up my shirts at the cleaners?’ and ‘I need some more socks and underwear.’ Blow job? I'll show him a blow job. I'll blow up the goddamn office is what I'll do. Then maybe he'd spend some time at home, and help with the kids, and I'd have the energy to give him a blow job!”

  “What an asshole,” Melissa concluded.

  Kimberlee thought, What would Claudia do?

  “What happened after he said that?” she asked in a gentle tone.

  “Oh, I blew — ha, good pun — and said something about how he put all his juice into his job and couldn't even get it up for a quickie, let alone a blow job. The guys left in a hurry at that point. And Scott left right after them.”

  Again, Melissa said, “What an asshole.”

  Kimberlee was silent and felt profoundly conflicted. Melissa experienced one scenario and she saw another entirely. Her take on things had shifted and she couldn't help but see from her new awareness. She was shocked by Melissa's attack. In front of his co-workers? Yikes.

  She saw the distance between the Melissa and her husband as a result of Melissa emasculating Scott for years with her complaints and criticism. She imagined the rage he must have felt in that moment, embarrassed by his wife. But what would have him say something that tacky in the first place? Is that the ‘disdain’ Claudia spoke of? She wondered how a man could get to that place with his own wife. What would cause that?

  But she could see her friend's pain and frustration as well. And her f
ear and loneliness. She wanted to help. But how?

  “Melissa, I'm sorry that happened to you. What can I do?”

  “Your sympathy helps. I was afraid I wouldn't even get that,” Melissa replied.

  “Why not?”

  “You're different, Kimmee. Ever since you started your man lessons. You're on his side now, not mine.” Melissa sounded angry and dejected.

  Kimberlee took a deep breath. Oh, this is hard. “Melissa, I'm not on anyone's side. I'm trying to figure out how it works. You know, men and women. And Claudia has offered me the first approach that fits me.”

  “But is it worth abandoning your best friend for?”

  “I'm not abandoning you, Mel. I'm abandoning Frog Farming. And … I hope you will too.”

  Melissa shot back, “Not if it means letting that asshole get away with being an absentee father and an entitled husband, thinking all we need is a paycheck.”

  Kimberlee pressed on. “But what if there's a good reason for how much Scott works? For everything he does? And doesn't do?”

  Melissa exploded, “That's exactly what I'm talking about! You're sticking up for him. How can what he said be justified? It was disgusting!”

  Kimberlee struggled to find the words. “I'm not trying to justify it. I'm trying to understand it. There's a difference.”

  “What's there to understand?”

  “I'm trying to understand what would have a man — a man who I know loves you — get to the point where he'd say something mean, even cruel. I'm trying to understand what we do that brings out the worst in men.”

  “It's my fault? I brought this out? No way. I'm not buying it. He's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. He'll always be an asshole.” Melissa added grudgingly, “I was only fooled for a while.”

  Kimberlee sighed in despair. How can I help her? She stuck her neck out again. “I'm learning another way of understanding men. I've found out there are things we do, called emasculation, that cause men to relate to us the opposite of what we want ….”