I Could Have Been A Trophy Wife

Renee and I were recent college grads renting the first floor of an old house in Historic Annapolis. Our apartment included a working fireplace and a screened-in back porch, which served as a three-season living room and our preferred entrance. We loved being able to take after-dinner walks around town, hang out at our favorite clothing store on Maryland Avenue, and generally be in the middle of everything that Annapolis had to offer. One of those offerings was the Maryland Inn’s Bastille Day celebration, featuring French wine and food on the porch, music, and the next best ambience to being in Paris. Well, wasn’t it Benjamin Franklin who described Annapolis as “the Paris of America?” 

Renee wasn’t at her best that Sunday morning. Her face was still puffy from having all her wisdom teeth extracted under general anesthesia the week before. Bastille Day was her first outing, and she was ready to be out and about. I was ready, too, both for the ambience and the prospect of seeing a guy from work that I’d dated a few times. Tom had left for the beach on Friday after work, but told me he’d be back on Sunday afternoon and would look for me on the porch of the Maryland Inn. 

We got to the Inn just in time to score one of the last tables, next to the far end of the porch but offering a view of both Main Street and Church Circle. The music was good, and we sipped wine and nibbled on cheese as I kept an eye out for Tom in his red Porsche. I admit, the attraction was the car as much as the guy. We drank more wine and nibbled on more cheese. By late-mid-afternoon, there was still no sign of a red Porsche. I was not a happy camper, and sat slumped in my chair, sulking. 

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and just then a photographer from the local paper, known affectionately as The Crab Wrapper, snapped a picture. Immediately a reporter appeared at my side, wanting to know our names, and fishing for quotes for a story. We obliged and kind of forgot about it. After all, there was wine to sip and cheese to nibble. 

Then a party of two men and a woman, all about 40-ish, arrived and commandeered the single remaining table, at the very end of the porch next to us. They struck up a conversation with us, and we learned that the guys were in town to be panelists at a foreign affairs conference at the Naval Academy. One guy was large and blond, looked a little bit like Goldfinger, and was a Captain in the Navy. The other one was small and dark and seemed to be of lesser significance. 

The woman was quite chatty, and after a while asked me if I could direct her to the ladies’ room. Once we got there, she explained that the Captain was quite taken with me. He didn’t know anyone in town, and wondered if I’d go to the conference banquet with him the next evening. He was 45 and divorced, but was a really nice guy. Having sipped too much wine and nibbled too little cheese, I said, “Sure, why not?” and we went back to the porch. 

The Madame (as I had begun thinking of her) steered the conversation. The Captain offered the invitation. I accepted. The Madame left. The Captain and his friend stayed and chatted up both of us. Eventually they invited us both to join them for dinner in the Maryland Inn’s Tavern. By this time Renee was fading, and she clearly was not interested in the friend. Halfway through dinner she excused herself to go to the loo, and whispered to me that she wasn’t coming back. Friend got suspicious after a few minutes, and took off after her. By her account, she was part way down Duke of Gloucester Street, headed for home, when she heard him calling “Renee, Renee, where are you? Come back!” She hid in someone’s shrubbery until he gave up and left. 

Meanwhile, the food was reviving me. When the Captain asked where I worked, I replied with the correct but vague “Department of Defense.” He immediately understood the code that meant that I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to talk about and half smiled. We proceeded to have a not-quite-classified conversation about the U.S. involvement in Southeast Asia, its possible effect on the Cold War (the Soviets were engaged in big-time testing of long range missiles capable of carrying multiple nuclear warheads), and how the Communist Chinese fit into the puzzle. He was certainly intelligent and interesting and, frankly, I’d pretty much forgotten about the invitation to the banquet. 

As he walked me home, however, the conversation went in a whole ‘nother direction. He thought that I was charming and delightful. He told me that his wife left him because she was tired of Navy life, he had a daughter who was about to turn 18 (I was about to turn 24), he wanted to get married again, and he didn’t want to waste time on a prolonged courtship. By the time we got to our door, I was in a near panic. At the bottom of the steps he told me again how much he had enjoyed the evening and he couldn’t wait for me to meet his colleagues at the banquet. He said he’d pick me up at 6:00. Before he had a chance to kiss me, I hurried up the three steps to our back porch, said good-night, and closed the screen door. 

Then I beat a hasty retreat into the house thinking, “Holy CRAP!” I went to bed wondering what in the world I’d gotten myself into. I woke up wondering how in the world I was going to get myself out of it. Fortunately, my friend Mary Anne was driving us to work that morning, so I got to work on time, despite being in the grip of a killer hangover with a side dose of anxiety. I knew I couldn’t go to the bloody banquet with him. I also had no way to get in touch with him before he turned up on our doorstep. 

Despite my revulsion at being hit on by a man old enough to be my father, it seemed too cruel to let him show up and just tell him that I didn’t want to go. I called Renee at work and we talked through the options. I could pretend I’d been called out of town on some kind of emergency. No, for a lot of reasons. I could feign cramps and take to my bed. No. That was immature and undignified. And then we had a brilliant idea: We’d find another date for him. But who? Renee wasn’t remotely interested. 

Then we thought of our friend Doris, a pretty, energetic, fun-loving, 40-ish divorcee. It seemed like the ultimate win-win-win. I’d be off the hook, the Captain would have a date for the banquet, and Doris would meet an eligible man. But how to make it happen? We’d figure that out later. I called Doris at work and told her to be at our house no later than 5:45, dressed to go to dinner, and be ready to go with the flow. I hung up before she could ask any questions. 

It took another phone call or two with Renee to brainstorm, but before I left work, we had a plan. I had to be dressed as if I intended to go, but we needed a believable reason for me not to go. Our friend Marsha, who lived on the third floor of our house, was engaged to a first-class midshipman who had arrived back from summer cruise the night before. Eddie was staying with her for a few days before he went home on leave. We enlisted Marsha and Eddie to help. 

This was the plan. Renee would be sitting in her chair on the screened-in porch doing her nails. For some reason that escapes me, doing her nails was important. Doris would arrive as I was dressing to go out. Renee would invite her to sit on the wicker love seat and offer her a glass of wine. When the Captain arrived, Renee would offer him a glass of wine and suggest that he sit next to Doris on the love seat. Then she’d go inside to fetch me, and while she was inside, she’d call Marsha to cue Eddie. I’d be on the porch by that time, chatting with the Captain and Doris while he finished his wine. Eddie would appear at the screen door to surprise me. We’d embrace. The Captain would see young love in action, be a gentleman and leave me with Eddie. Doris would offer to drive him “someplace,” which would be the banquet. It really was quite brilliant. We carefully arranged the furniture on the porch and did a dry run with Eddie. It couldn’t fail. 

Doris arrived. Renee offered her a seat and a glass of wine, and settled in with her nail polish. I had finished dressing and was putting on makeup when the phone rang, just a few minutes before the Captain was due to arrive. It was Mary Anne, who launched into a long conversation that ended with her asking if I could drive us to work the next day. At that point I heard the Captain’s voice coming from the porch, and Renee ran in, frantically signaling for me to get off the phone and get my rear end out there. 

It was already a disaster, she said. It was clear that there was no way that both Doris and the Captain would fit on the love seat. He had refused the offer of wine and was anxious to get going. I managed to hang up and made my entrance. I stalled, making sure that Doris and the Captain had been properly introduced and were chatting. He was noticeably antsy, but just then Eddie appeared. I feigned surprise, although in truth I was never more happy to see anyone than I was to see Eddie at that very moment. Eddie gave me an enthusiastic hug and kiss. I sputtered that I hadn’t expected him back so soon. The Captain reacted about as we had anticipated and said he guessed he’d better get going. Doris figured out her role and offered him a ride. He said, “Thanks, but I have a rental,” and strode off. No, we didn’t anticipate that part. 

Eddie went back upstairs to Marsha. Doris picked up her wine glass and followed me and Renee into our “breakfast room” and said, “What just happened out there? That poor man left here with his tail between his legs.” All of a sudden I felt like the bottom had dropped out of my world. We had planned the whole thing so that his feelings wouldn’t be hurt. As Renee and I told Doris the whole story, though, we all had fits of giggles. Doris finally said, “I feel sorry for that poor man, but that’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

At that point we realized that we hadn’t eaten and we all went out for a nice dinner. 

Needless to say, I never saw or heard from the Captain again. I don’t even remember his name. I do hope that he found an appropriate woman to marry and that they lived happily ever after.