A scandal has arisen of late and not, for a change, at the club but in our sleepy Rockwood neighbourhood of Victoria. It is one of those things that one normally would cringe at if it were not more or less right on our doorstep.
I tremble even thinking about it, but some of us, if I am honest, are just a little bit jealous of old Jim down at the bottom of our street. James Musty, for that is the chap’s full name, is a recent widower who was married to Paula, one of the most formidable women in this garden city by the sea, until her demise a few months ago.
She was enormously rich with “old money,” while he was a terrified librarian who did exactly as he was told. The frightful wife choked on an olive pit while shouting at her woebegone husband and died, very surprised, at his feet.
He somehow thought it must have been his fault; he was found shouting at the cadaver that he was sorry he had not removed the pit beforehand. While he was devastated by the loss of his dismaying wife, James was now the richest librarian in the history of Victoria. However that is not the envious bit that I referred to earlier. I can honestly say every one of his acquaintances was delighted that he was finally free and wonderfully wealthy. No, we have become aware that a woman who worked with James as some sort of assistant book thingie has caught his fancy and he hers, and it is wonderful to behold. She is quiet, charming and lovely to look at, in short a first-rate exchange for the aforementioned Paula.
The large fly in the ointment is the herd of Paula’s female cronies, who now have woken up to how easily Paula’s memory has been discarded not only by her husband but by their spouses, replaced by this newer model, whose name, by the way, is Claire. “It could happen to us” seems to be lodged in their collective cranium. Do they honestly think we want to get rid of our wives because of Claire?
If only we could be happy for others instead of the usual Shakespearian grinding of teeth and whispering jealous thoughts behind the lucky chap’s back. For instance a dear friend of mine won a small lottery prize, only to be ostracized by his former friends who felt he had no business winning such a thing in the first place. They turned their backs on him in childish jealousy. He had to sell his house and move to an unknown destination (Bahamas) to escape his tormentors.
As far as the aforementioned Jim, no happier man could be imagined. To meet the girl of his dreams who was also a Dewey-decimal adherent after all he had been through with the frightful Paula was almost too much to hope for. And to be blissfully rich as well, there you go, eh?
In order to bring a little fairness into the picture, I spoke to the goblins who were saying such awful things about Jim, including my wife, when I found the core group perched throughout our living room one afternoon. When I finally got their attention by cutting off the supply of tea and butter tarts, I pointed out that in spite of the life he had with Paula, he never contemplated leaving her nor would he have, had she not “handed in the lunch pail” so to speak. Even meeting Claire at work and knowing she was everything that Paula was not, he still did not leave.
“It was Paula’s money that made him stay,” one hen shouted at me, with much clucking accompanying the sentence. My wife nodded harshly at me as if I am in the same boat, which I am, but I think she knows I love her anyway. I hope she does, it is just those damned cats, Pericles and Bertram….. Oh well.
I pointed out that it did not matter why he stayed. He stayed and that should be the end of it. I added that the reason a friend of mine who just passed from diabetes remained in his marriage is that his wife made key lime pie every night for dessert. Life is different for everyone and should be respected. If Jim had found love late in life then so be it.
Much muttering followed that and I left quickly, returning them to their butter tarts.
Several club mems thought I should get a medal of some kind because we all knew I was for it when I returned to the family nest that night, all because I had to defend an extremely nice man. I remained at the club until almost suppertime before making my way home, preparing myself for the worst.
However my wife Kitty seemed in a pensive mood that night as we ate silently with me clutching a nearby martini as a last defence. Suddenly my Kitty said, “You would remember me, wouldn’t you, Nigel? I mean you wouldn’t go right out and marry someone else, would you?”
I loved her more that moment than I ever have before.
“No, my dear, you are irreplaceable today, you will be tomorrow and every day hence.”
We ate amiably and smiled at each other as always.
Be kind, please.
Copyright Major’s Corner 2015.
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