<div><DIV> CHAPTER 1 <P>Helen harbors the hope that the passing five years Have made folks forget both the vomit and tears And throwing of glassware and drunken oration, That half-hour tirade of recrimination Where, feeling misused, she had got pretty plastered, And named His name publicly, called him a bastard. The details are fuzzy, though others have told her She insulted this one and cried on that shoulder, Then lurched 'round the ballroom, all pitching and weaving And ended the night in the ladies' lounge, heaving.</P> <BR> <P>How had it begun, before things all turned rotten? She can pinpoint the day, she has never forgotten How he came to her desk and leaned over her chair To look at some papers, and then smelled her hair. "Gardenias," he'd said, his voice sultry and lazy And hot on her ear, Helen felt she'd gone crazy. "A fragrance so heady it borders on sickly," He'd purred at her neck and then just as quickly Was back to all business, demanding she call Some client, as if he'd said nothing at all.</P> <P>She was certainly never an expert at men, But an inkling was twinkling, especially when The next day he all but confirmed Helen's hunch. When he leaned from his office and asked her to lunch. Their talk was all awkward and formal to start He said that he found her efficient and smart. She thanked him, then stopped, she was quite at a loss.</P> <P>She'd never before really talked to her boss. They each had martinis, which helped turn things mellow, He asked where she lived, and if she had a fellow. He reached for her hand and asked, "Will you allow An old man to wonder who's kissing you now?"</P> <BR> <P>It was close and convenient, his spare midtown rental. And after, <I>more</I> drinks at a bar near Grand Central To sit once again in uncomfortable silence Like two guilty parties to some kind of violence. They sipped among other oblivion seekers, While June Christy sang from the bar's tinny speakers. He settled the bill and they got to their feet, And emerged from the afternoon hush to the street.</P> <BR> <P>They walked arm in arm in some crude imitation Of other real couples en route to the station. Such leisurely strolling, although it's grown late Against her best judgment it feels like a date. His booze-cloud blown over, now happy, near beaming He stops at a window of cutlery, gleaming, He points out the wares, taking note of a set that He likes best of all, then he says, "<I>We</I> should get that." She knows it's a joke, all this idle house-playing But briefly she hopes that he means what he's saying. Her presence, she thinks, is what's rendered him gladder But really it's just that he aimed for, and had her. The hideous reason behind his new glow is What Helen—and many just like her—don't know is</P> <P>That men's moods turn light and their spirits expand, The moment they sense an escape is at hand. He patted her cheek as he said, "I'm replenished," Then off through the crowd for the next train to Greenwich.</P> <BR> <P>Helen pictured his house with its broad flagstone path. The windows lit up, a child fresh from the bath, And wondered if <I>she</I> might just smell on his skin, The coppery scent of their afternoon sin.</P> <P>At her desk the next Monday it was business as always. There were no words exchanged, not a glance in the hallways. With relief, Helen thought, <I>Well that's that. Nevermore.</I> 'Til Friday (again) at his pied-à-terre door.</P> <BR> <P>And Friday thereafter, and each after that For close to two years, 'til their actions begat What such actions are wont to when caution's ignored. The cure was a thing she could scarcely afford. They talked in his office behind the closed door. (She could tell from his face that he'd been there before.) In the envelope left the next day on her desk, Was two hundred cash and a downtown address.</P> <BR> <P>She'd never had visions of roses or cupids, From the beginning she wasn't that stupid. What you don't hope for can't turn 'round to hurt you. Besides, she had long before given her virtue.</P> <P>There hadn't been untoward coaxing or urging This wasn't The Ogre Defiling The Virgin He's older than she, but they'd both played the game Of never once speaking the other one's name. Their mutual distance a plan jointly hatched To keep things unserious, flip, and detached. It was—truth be told, when she coolly reflected— Not all that much different from what she'd expected. <I>Expected,</I> she thought, and it sounded absurd. How long had it been since she'd uttered that word?</P> <BR> <P>And yet there were moments—unbarred, undefended— When Helen concocted, cooked up, and pretended She had all the trappings that go with the life of The thoroughly satisfied, <I>marrified</I> wife of A man who might keep her, despite the new battle That said wives were really no better than chattel, The difference too scant between "bridal" and "bridle" And girls who'd had everything, now suicidal, Finally finding their voices to speak Of their feminine fetters, this loathsome mystique; This problem that theretofore hadn't a name And still, Helen couldn't resist, just the same, To wonder, how might such a cared-for existence Feel after decades of hard-won subsistence. A mistress of manor, so calm, so serene To know that there nowhere was any vitrine Whose silvery wares would be ever denied her. </DIV></div><br/> <i>(Continues...)</i> <!-- Copyright Notice --> <blockquote><hr noshade size='1'><font size='-2'>Excerpted from <b>Love, Dishonor, Marry, Die, Cherish, Perish</b> by <b>David Rakoff</b>. Copyright © 2013 David Rakoff. Excerpted by permission of Random House LLC, a division of Random House, Inc. <br/>All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.<br/>Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.</font><hr noshade size='1'></blockquote>