The Taming of A Shrew

Lil, I don't know what to do. I want..."

"Brenda, I know--a baby. You keep saying that. Why don't you simply go to a sperm bank? We've been having this conversation for more than a year now, and I don't have any other answer, since you don't want to adopt either."

"I'm about ready to do anything to find a husband, but the men I meet. Ugh. Maybe, I'll just have to compromise."

"Well, your mom is always eager to set you up on blind dates, or has she given up?"

"No. But you know what her friends' sons are like..."

"Oh I do Brenda, I don't think I'll ever forget Mrs. Croce's gross mafia type son she set me up with? That barely literate longshoreman? By the way, why didn't she try to fix you up with him?"

"An Italian? Only a Jew will do for me. And oh, the schmucks she’s found for me. A barely five foot tall social worker, a stuttering accountant who never looked anyone in the eye, a shoe salesman--all right that's not fair--he owned the store, and the Professor who kept wanting to educate me. Never mind that I'm a PhD in physics. I know I'm no beauty, and I don't seem to attract men, but I Want to have a Baby. Don't you worry that the clock is running out on us. We're almost forty."

"Well, we do have four years to go. You forget that I'm not at all baby crazy, Brenda, never have been. Watching my mom have one every other year and because I was the oldest, helping her with her spawns of Satan."

"Oh Lil, I know you came to New York to escape." 

Brenda felt herself growing weepy and walked toward Lil's kitchen to grab the second bottle of wine she'd brought. Passing Lil's bedroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror Lil used to check her appearance before leaving for her job as a fashion coordinator for rich bitches. She sighed at her somewhat dumpy body, her rather long nose, and unruly mop of brown hair. It didn't matter in the lab. She was a work friend with the mostly males she spent her days with, and partied with them on Friday nights after work, quaffing beer, but not one of them had ever asked her out.

She and Lil downed the wine, and when she got loopy, she made a decision. She would settle for the next man her mom introduced her to, no matter who it was.

And so, the next day, when her hangover eased, she called her Mom.

"Brenda, Bubbelah, is something wrong?"

"Mom, why do you assume something's wrong whenever I call?"

"Maybe, Brenda, because you don't call often enough."

"Okay. Mom. But this call should make you happy. The ban on fixing me up is lifted..."

"Oh, finally, you've come to your senses. Thank God you've given up trying to be one of those, what do you call them, lesbies, you know, happy--oh, right, gay people."

"What in the world gave you that... Oh never mind. You have any ideas?"

"Well, Mrs. Strauss's son just got divorced and he got custody of the kids."

"Stop right there, Mom. He’s much too old. What else?"

"Well, Mr. Wallace is trying to get his son to settle down. He's been in the army twenty years and can retire with a good pension, but told his father, if he did, he'd become something like an empty, oh you know, with the fire department."

"Oh, you mean an EMT?"

"That's what I said."

"Okay, mom. I'll buy in. Let me know."

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. Brenda picked it up and, sure enough, it was her mother.

"Come to dinner tonight. He'll be here, I have to hang up to go to the butcher. Bye."

"Tonight. She's nuts. How the hell can I get ready? Never mind, he'll be a loser and so the hell with. I'll just be Brenda Yellin, the weird physicist."

Arriving at her mother's apartment, she tried to use her key, but her hand shook too much. She was about to ring, when she felt someone take the key from her hand and open the lock… She felt a soft belly against her back, but the person attached was invisible since he, and it had to be a "he" given the strength of his arm, pressed her against the door. As the door swung open, she felt herself falling forward, saved by that arm wrapping itself around her waist and lifting her, then setting her down carefully.

She turned and was surprised by what she saw. Six feet of muscle and a pot belly, decent face if a bit stony. No smile, in need of a shave but a strong jaw, long but straight nose, and somewhat hooded dark brown eyes.

"I take it you're Brenda. Hi, I'm Paul. And I’m hungry. Let's see what's to eat. Then we can talk."

Brenda was surprised by the short staccato sentences, almost barked out, them, remembering he’d been in the army and army shows she’d watched when she was a kid, ventured a guess, “Sargeant?"

“Command Sergeant Major”

That was all he managed before her mother and his father came eagerly into the foyer, dressed to the nines and, of course, clearly dismayed by their respective offspring's obvious lack of effort. But not wanting to do anything to upset the two children, quickly babbling greetings and making introductions. They glanced at each other and with mutual grimaces followed them into the dining room.

Her mother asked Mr. Wallace to pour the wine and disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with a soup tureen. She served the sweet and sour cabbage soup, careful not to put any of the little meatballs into Brenda’s bowl.

Brenda, who didn’t eat meat, wondered what her mother was going to do about the main course. She realized she’d underestimated her mother when she arrived with first, a lovely roasted filet of salmon, followed by filet mignon, and then platters of assorted vegetables, including her favorite—roasted cauliflower—and of course twice baked potatoes and carrots.

She was astonished by the lack of conversation but realized that the men were enjoying heaping plates of food too much to talk. When they finished eating and went to the living room, the conversation, if you could call it that, consisted of their parents talking about them, how good they looked together, trying to find interests that matched. Finally, they stopped and looked at them, asking in unison, like a Greek chorus, “Well?”

Silence fell. Finally, Paul said, "Dad, I'm going to leave you on your own to walk Brenda home.”

The parents were both beaming, then Paul’s father said, grinning, “No problem, I think Mrs. Yellin and I will play a little gin rummy before I go. I’ll see you later, Paul.”

They escaped quickly, grabbing the elevator in silence. When they got out of the building, Brenda said, “I’m way uptown, near Columbia. It’s too far to walk.” She hesitated a second before adding, “We could go to the Starbucks on the next block…”

“Great. We need to figure things out,” Paul said.

Brenda wondered what that meant, but she thought it could make the whole evening worthwhile. She certainly had gotten no sense of what he was like, given neither of them had said more than two dozen words yet.

When they finally found a small table in a corner, they sat down with their pumpkin lattes, the fall treat at Starbucks, and Paul asked, “You want kids?”

Surprised by that question as the first, she pulled herself together and said, “Yes, two.”

“Good, that sounds about right. You have any questions?”

“Um, yes,” Brenda managed to get her brain working, “How religious are you, keep Kosher?”

“No, I was in the army for twenty years. It would have been impossible to keep Kosher.”

“Good. I’m not religious either. It’s hard to be a physicist and a believer.”

“What does a physicist do, anyway?"

“Lots of different things. Basically, physicists explore the basic properties and laws that govern space, time, energy, and matter. Some teach in colleges. Others study theory, design and perform experiments, or apply their knowledge in developing materials or equipment. In my case I work in a lab where we perform experiments,” she explained.

Paul looked a bit stunned. After blinking a few times, he said, “Not like the Manhattan Project?”

Brenda grinned and said, “No, nothing atomic. Lasers, medical stuff mostly.”

“Does it pay well?” he asked. 

“Yes, very well,” she said wondering why he asked.

“I asked because I’ll make a decent salary as an EMT. Also I have a nice pension. Will you be comfortable living that way?”

“No, but with both our salaries we could be more than comfortable, save for college for the kids, take great vacations.”

“But you’d have to stop working when the kids come.”

Brenda looked at him for a long moment, then said, “I thought I’d take a couple of months off, but not stop.”

“Of course you’d stop. Women do the minute they hold their babies for the first time.”

No, Brenda thought, but didn’t say, you’ll see. He wasn’t bad, probably bright enough to learn what life in this new era was like and accept it. She’d just have to train him.

His next question stunned her. “So. When should we tell the parents we’re getting married?”

“That’s it. No other questions. Just ‘we’re getting married’?”

“Look, that’s what this meeting was about, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t we find out a little more about each other, what we like to do, what music we like, books, movies? And how we’ll be as parents,” she said, although she wondered why she was hesitating, maybe losing the opportunity presented. 

“Brenda, don’t worry your head about the small stuff. Okay, parenting isn’t that little. Of course, I’ll be in charge of discipline—oh don’t frown, I’m talking rules. Not beating them.”

“Paul, give me a couple of minutes to think, okay,” she asked smiling.

She saw him pull up his sleeve to look at his watch and began to think it through quickly in her head. First, he was a soldier, learned how to accept rules. She could work with that to change him. He seemed eager and she could almost feel that little one cuddled in her arms. The hell with it, there was always divorce if she wanted out. But she’d have the Baby.

“Okay. I’m game. What kind of wedding do you want? The whole megillah, city clerk’s office, elope?” she asked.

“My classes start in two weeks. It can’t be a fancy thing. Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. I’m involved in a big conference in ten days. So, should we go back up to my Mom’s, tell them, and explain it has to be a City Hall wedding late this week, or we can simply elope,” she asked.

“Okay, but remmber we have to do it Friday, when the Courts are open. To prevent arguments we can let them hold a small party the next day,” Paul declared. 

She agreed, and they went back, broke the news, had the fight over no real wedding, Paul said he’d take care of the City Hall arrangements, Brenda said they’d each give a list of five friends to invite. And the parents said they’d find a place for Saturday.

 Brenda stood up and said, “I’m going to grab a cab home and left before Paul could say anything. The minute she left, she called Lil from her cell phone and asked if she could come over. Of course, Lil agreed, but asked if she should come to Brenda’s apartment just in case Benda’s mom called.

Taking a deep breath, Brenda replied, “You’re right. Sorry. Of course. She always checks. I’m in a cab. Just passed Macy’s. Probably ten to fifteen minutes.”

Brenda, “What’s with the way you’re talking. You sound like Mrs. General’s husband.”

“Really. That’s great. I have to hear him.”

“Did you have too much to drink? Was the guy awful?”

“No Lil, sorry. I’ll explain it all. Whoops. Phone’s dying, so bye.”

Twenty minutes later, they entered the apartment, and Brenda hugged Lil, saying, “Get ready to be a witness at my wedding at City Hall on Friday.”

Lil shrieked, then laughed. “Ha, for a moment I believed you.”

“It’s not a joke,” Brenda said then told Lil in great detail everything that had taken place.

Lil was looking stunned, asked for a minute to think, and got the time because the phone rang. But then Brenda put it on speaker. Lil heard Paul’s voice, almost drowned out by Brenda’s mother’s string of questions, interrupted by Paul saying, “Of course. Get some rest. I’ll call in the morning. Turn off your phone. No Mrs. Yellin. She needs to rest. Night Brenda.”

“Bossy isn’t he. Oh, and yes military, like the General, fast short sentences. Tell me all, before I go nuts,” Lil said.

“Indeed, giving orders. Yes, but think for a minute. If I sound like a higher rank, he’ll tend to automatically respond, before realizing it. That’s how I can train him. Besides, he’s tall, not bad looking, not totally mindless, and once there is a Baby, I can get a divorce if I need to.”

“I think you are nuts. But I’m styling the General’s wife for a gala Wednesday evening. He always checks on her dress, makeup, hair. A pain in the neck, drives me crazy. But I’ll introduce you as someone I’m training. Oh god, we need to get you something to wear.”

“No. It’s not necessary. Remember the blue suit we picked out at Lord and Taylor for the award dinner.”

Lil nodded, “Yes, fine for Friday, but not for the party Saturday.”

“Of course, it is. I'll say I want to show them the outfit I wore to my wedding, that will be my excuse,” Brenda said smirking.

Lil said, “No way. No argument. Your mother will blame me. I’m sleeping over and tomorrow we go to the place I buy from and pick something out.”

Brenda didn’t fight it. So off they went to get some sleep. Lil loved the spare room in Brenda’s apartment. None of the frills, chintz’s, and little porcelain figures her own mother liked, just black and white and clean modern lines.

In the morning, Brenda turned the phone on and found a message from Paul. “We need to find an apartment fast. I’ve been staying with my dad. Don't have my own place yet. Let me know when you'll be ready to look today.” 

He’d called at 6. It was now 10. Army boy, indeed. She called him and said, “Got your message. Even if we found something, there's no way we would have it by Saturday. Lease. Furniture. Meet me at my apartment at 6,” she said.

“I’ll be there. We can stay there at first, I guess. Then look after. What’s the address?”

Brenda gave it to him, said she’d order something in for dinner, and quickly hung up. Lil, who’d heard it all, took her hands off her mouth which she’d used to stifle her laughter, and started dancing around—“The Taming of the Shrew,” she shrieked. Then added, "Oh poor man. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

Just one year later, taking turns cuddling two-month-old Charlotte, they were a happy couple. Paul and Brenda had both changed. 

Brenda had worked till the day Charlotte made her appearance, and she was returning to work in two more weeks, but now had learned to cook a bit—Paul handling the small grill for his proteins, her draw of takeout menus emptied, and great salads, veggies, and fish her domain. 

Paul was an EMT, working with men and women as friends, where rank didn’t matter and he’d begun to see how the world had changed those twenty years, while he’d been in the army. They were still living in her apartment, the extra room now decorated in sunny yellow.

Their parents having moved uptown so they could take turns caring for Charlotte, named after Paul’s mother, which made Mr. Wallace forget about his vow never to change a diaper. 

As the Bard of Avon would have said, “All’s well that ends well.”