Please wait. Contacting image service... loading
Hide article pages Show article pages
  1. Page 30
    Page 30 thumbnail
  2. Page 33
    Page 33 thumbnail
  3. Page 35
    Page 35 thumbnail
  4. Page 37
    Page 37 thumbnail

Article text

On this Page 30
none Help
TTH IE
SWINGERS
BY LAWRENCE WILLIAMS
ipO our regret, my wife, Sally, and I are not parents. We would like to be; we just
* aren't And parents know we aren't-at a glance. I don't know how. All I know
is if, at a party, say, some guy wants to talk about bis kids, he walks right past me and
starts talking to a parent. And, of course, he's right. In some mysterious way he knows
that I wouldn't truly know what he was talking about. However . . .
A few days ago Sally and I went to a sort of pre-wedding party at the home of some
very old friends of ours, Mary and David Hamilton. Their daughter was getting
married the following Saturday, and the idea was that some friends of the family were
to meet the groom. Well, we met him.
The bride-to-be-Sky, I'm sorry to have to tell you, is her name-is a very dear girl.
She is pretty and lots of fun and earnest about marching against dungs and for things,
and Sally and I dandled her on our knees when she was very "small . . . Sky is very
much a creature of her generation, as she certainly ought to be.
The bridegroom-to-be, Sky's future husband, was a young man named Chuck Something,
and from my parochial point of view he left a lot to be desired. A good-looking kid, he
had done everything to himself it was possible to do to make himself into a mess.
Lanky hair falling over his collar, an unironed shirt, tie askew, the total works.
But those are details. I only want to indicate that Chuck was also very much of his time
To page 33

THTSWINGERS_

_-? ' ToKTINUED FROM PAGE 30

^LiT.wbat startled me.
B"th^^ minding my

^ busing hen Chuck
oldacqu^tance.wn

iPPr°t? ^T-t a minute,

^.hmV Sky and I have

kÄtHketwentymVtar:old

v i. calling me Tom, but 1

?** impose there's much I

^lck 'M said, and m five

^«nnnutes we were off m

i corner.

«Sky and I want to spend
"", honeymoon with you,

Onck said, "down at your
house in the country.

«You want to what?

"Spend our honeymoon
with you. Sky says you've got

. little apartment over your

garage- We can't afford to
£¿ a real trip, and rt'* just
for the weekend. I gotta be
lack in college on Monday.
0K?" r s A

Now, Tm forty-four and
Sally is'forty. Can you possibly
imagine why a couple of
newlyweds would want to
mend their honeymoon at our
house? I asked the question.
And I got an answer. It didn t

make any sense, but I got it. .

"Because," Chuck said, in a
land of underground voice,
smiling like a conspirator,
"you're swingers."

"We are? How can you
te"?"

"Yon knew. Not like parents
and like that."

"I see. WelL I'll talk to my
wife, Chuck," I said, "and let
you know before we leave"

I found Sally and told her.
"Spend their honeymoon
with us?" Sally said.

"That's exactly the way I

said it."

"But why?"

"I said that, too. Because
we're swingers."

"Weare?"

"Not like parents. Chuck

told me so."

And there it was again -
the sane look I'm sure had
been on my face a minute
before. A secret smile, phony
indignation. "But that's
ridiculous!" Sally said. "Still,
1 suppose if that's what they

want..."

And it was ridiculous. Sally
and I are not swingers. We are
wjry square people. No, there
was only one likely conclusion
- and Chuck had already
saul iL We were non-parents.
Which a to say, two people of
J1"*" age, who had" none of
">e nagging authority of true

jarcnis and, therefore, could ?
"e treated as contemporaries.

So there we were, a couple
ot rounterfeit swingers about
10 Pay host to a couple of real

twenty years younger
«Wounelve,. We went to the
T* a few days later,

WM described in the

ZS"»» progressive,"

mean* Wen, I

whoUy Planned by
~°Te and groom.

Tje ctergyman wore a

uwST hf mana«ed to

ieTj ,?f Aldous Hux

whose kJ^T a fcw P060

jT *. «en- poetry.

and ,'""i j ' Dnde * parents

fanuüa^oed the more
da*W C^P^e, cake, and
PwVbrokren ^ adding
newlywed toW dre

> Ce^^H/ Hves in

1 are iif^ ,:iWhen Sally and

Ci,1"^^ we usually

country'!*"1^ house in the

^en^v TV^drive on

10 a v«v I' i?1* ^e it was,

y> a strange drive. I

couldn't help wondering aloud
what we had let ourselves in
for.

"Darling, relax," Sally said.
"I think we ought to be
pleased that kids of this gen-
eration want to spend same
time with old fogies like us."

"All right, I'm pleased. But
what are we going to do with
them for two whole days ?"

"Just talk to them, like any-
body else. Tor heaven's sake,
they're just people."

"Yeah ? I'm not so sure that
Chuck kid is just a people.
Where did he get all that

hair?"

"Grew it. Like you did."

"Oh, I'm not really talk-
ing about hair. But you and
I don't know anything about
kids nowadays. We don't even
know very many."

"Well, maybe we'll leam
something about them this
weekend," Sally said. "Any-
how, they already think we're
. . . uh.. . . cooL"

"You see?" I said. They've
already got you intimidated.
I'll bet you never used the
word 'cool' in that hipster
sense before in your life."

SALLY looked

kind of shamefaced, but
determined. "Maybe not," she
said, "but I don't see any-
thing wrong with it."

"I didn't say there was any-
thing wrong with it. I just said
it didn't sound like you - like
us. Oh, well . . ."

Then I noticed that I wasn't
acting particularly like me,
either. Chuck and. Sky were
right on my tail. Chuck was
at the wheel of some kind of
little European sports car,
bright red, and if it had ever

had a muffler it had one no

longer. It sounded like a jet
at full throtde. I got the feel-
ing that I was being not fol-
lowed as per instructions but
pursued.

I found myself impercep-
tibly pressing down harder on
the accelerator. SPEED
LIMIT 60, said the sign, and
I saw that I was doing a cool
70.

Well, we got to our place.
The night was lovely, nie ah-
as kind and soft as a wel-

coming pillow. It was just our
usual time to go to bed-and
do you know what I said?
Yes, yes, I did. I said, "How
about a nightcap for you
junior citizens?"

"I think we owe it to our-

selves," said Chuck, brushing
a ten-inch strand af hair out
of his eyes and regarding me
admiringly^ "You really got
your finger on the scene,
' Tom."

Dear little Sky brushed a
twenty-inch strand of hair out
af her eyes, and said, "Oh,
Tom, you really dig us. I
don't even want a drink, but
you know how to treat us like
people, not dumb kids."

So we all had some quite
unnecessary drinks and went
to bed much later dian made
any sense, determined
swingers to the end.

I don't know whether, in
contemporary usage, the oppo-
site of "cool" is "warm." I'm
inclined to doubt it. "Square,"
I am told, has been replaced
by "straight." Anyhow, the
language of meteorology and
geometry .to describe human
personality seems to me to be
sufficiently far-out to allow
for some licence in these
matters. Maybe "uncool" is
the word I'm groping for. In
any case, I think that's what
Sally and I were considered
to be next morning at break-
fast.

Now, I don't know about
you, but for me the breakfast
table is where it all begins.
The day, I mean. It can make
it or break it, particularly on
weekends. I think the quieter

To page 35

THE SWINGERS j

--- Continued from page 33 J

u_kfa»t the better it

** "ïd I like a nice
Uitcs, ^ "f especially

"? \T natural limitations, I

^ X breakfast table

a regukar fashion

IbSFresh from a hot shower,
Ä shaved, ck^ shut tle

sports jacket and

slacks.

And Sally's the same. There
,he\Us on the terrace m the
bJ£Iiant sunshine, serong the
Hassle Shew^wear
biW sort of starchy, filmy
housecoat that showed off her
almost indecently perfect
figure. Her face was made-up
for the day. She had not a
hair out of place.

Chuck and Sky were
already seated at the breakfast
table, waiting to be served.
You ranember I told you
Chuck looked like a mess the
day before? But you've got to
take into account that the
day before was his wedding
day-kind of a dressy day.
Thii was only a Sunday,
which keeps coming around

all the tune.

H OW can I des-

cribe this character? He
hadn't shaved, his hair had
unaccountably grown two
inches during the night, his
shirt-tail was hanging out the
back of a pair of frowzy white
jeans, his feet were bare . . .
Oh, well, you've seen the type.
And Sky was nearly as bad,
except that for some reason
which I can't explain it looks
a little better on girls.

They stared at me in blank
astonishment. I was the guy
right off the ship from the
planet Mars.

"Hey, what are you trying
to do, Tom?" Chuck said.
"You trying to put us on or
something? This is the coun-
try, man."

I ignored this, although I
confess I pulled at my tie a
little to set it at an angle. 1
rubbed my hands together,
smiling briskly, and tried to
think of something to say.
"What's for breakfast? LSD
anyone?" I said.

Chuck smiled thinly, then
watched my face with intense
almost clinical interest. "Yoi
know, Tom," he said, ''yoi
got something going for yo*
that I'd like to learn. Yoi
know how to work both side
«f the street Like now. You'n
doing the collar and tie bit
but at the same time you'n
Wding us, to use an old
fashioned expression. You'n

«»ling the cool, if you folio*

me."

Now I was sure he was pul
ting me on, and true swinger
cant allow mat "Chuck,"

sai(1. I get dressed up in th

?norning because breakfaj

tastes better that way. That
«e simple truth. Of course,

tully acknowledge the poss
Wity that breakfast tasti
better to you dressed yoi

i I

way." It sounded pretty
square to me, almost like a

parent. But not to Chuck. It ',
fractured him. I just couldn't
lose with this kid. Sky, too.

"I know what Chuck is try
ing to say," Sky said, "and
it's true. You and Sally don't
seem to belong to any genera-
tion in particular. Most people

your age get sort of stuck in !
some historical period and
just stay there for the rest of
their lives. But you two seem
to just automatically move

with the tunes. It's kind of \
spooky, but it's lovely."

Now, this was pretty heady
stuff. In a highly dubious
way, of course. I mean, why

shouldn't people act their j
age? Because they don't want
to. I found myself smiling

suavely, and even Sally, who !
has a more highly developed
sense of reality than I, was
being subtly seduced. She
brought out a magnificent
omelet and set it on the ter-
race table in the country sun-

shine.

"I'll bring the coffee in a \
second," she said, "but you <
cats start in before this gets 1
cold." ;

Now, I would have thought !
that "cats" was Early Louis i
Armstrong. And very possibly '
it is, but in this somewhat ',
unpredictable Bat-age that 1
was what was good about it. 1
It was so far-out that it was
in, and it was received with
general hilarity: I laughed
a beat too late, possibly-but
louder than anybody. Your
true swinger understands these
things.

The rest of the day went
smashingly-or, at least, most
of it did, and then it didn't
go at all. But that came later.

The house Sally and I rent
is a big old rambling affair,
vaguely Spanish-looking, sort
of a Mexican country club, if
there is such a diing. What I
mean is, it's sort of shabby,
but there are lots of tilings to
do around the place to keep
people occupied. There's a
beat-up tennis court and a
small pool and all kinds of
games to play, for which I
was particularly grateful that
day.

If you're playing tennis or
swimming or playing cards
you don't have much time left
over to worry about losing
your cool. Sally and I even
beat Sky and Chuck two
straight sets of tennis, which
you'll have to admit is pretty
stunning for two huffers-and
puffers who think Helen Wills
and Bill Tilden are the only
ones who really understood
the game.

Then we swam, then we had
an enormous and festive
lunch, then I happily lost two
bucks to Chuck in a gin game,
then we swam again, then I
collapsed. Well, I don't mean
I fell down on the floor or

anything, I just went to bed,
took a nap. So did Sally.

To page 37

THE SWINGERS

--CONTINUED FROM PAGE 35

. .u. it wairi't. a»

^ 'of ÙVto take a nap

Jtofi » terrible
jbout taking * naP? ,.

Anyhow, the true, « .«!«

thc bogus, »wuig

.^? w take . nap

i ^tÄ» walked,

ïTîLvd© The house is

JTtea» «re. of avocado
12 from which our land
^make. . inodest mcome,
1$ Sky »nd Chuck wandered

"ff into the groves.

Around midnight wed all
bushed ourselves into pretty
much of . »tupor.» we «aid
!LH night Md Sally and I

S into our bedroom and

tht kids to their place over

£ g^Uje. » ^'tf^J

was in my pyjama that 1 re-
membered I'd forgotten to put
the car away, and it had
looked at though a rainy to-
morrow w»s <m the way.

I put on a dressing-gown
and went outside. Curiously,
there wat a tight on in the
»nure. When I went m I
mond Chuck there. He was
loading three good-sized card-
board cartons into the back
»eat of his little red sports car,
and he looked rather startled

when he saw me.

"Oh, hi, Tom," he said.
"Just getting loaded up for
the trip home tomorrow. What
are you doing here? You think
you heard . burglar or some-
thing?"

"Chuck," I said, interrupt-
ing him, trying to sound
casual, "mat's an awful lot of
avocados you've got there."

"Ah, just a couple," Chuck
said. "When Sky and I took a
walk this afternoon down
through the groves I figured
I might as well pick a few."

"A few?"

"Well, you know how it is,
Tom. It's a matter of supply
and demand. Down around
here, avocados are a drug on
the market. Everybody raises
'em. A dime a dozen. But up
around L.A. these things are
worth a half a buck apiece
They're not a dime a
dozen," I said, "although they
are cheaper. But I don't see
what that's got to do with
anything. They belong to my
huKUord, a guy named Zim-

merman."

Chuck grinned, not looking
at me, brushing hair out of
hñ eyes. "Listen, your buddy
Zimmerman has got acres of
these things," be said. "He'll
never miss a little box or two."

"No, he probably wouldn't,
.wt..." It was getting sticky.
1 wa« setting stuffy. I hated
the sound of my own voice,
«y coed wai already halfway

fat.

.^Chuck," I went on steadily,

Zimmerman makes his
««t of raising avocados.
~ Party, anyway. That's
neaung a man's livelihood.

«nt rt?"

Janek's face flushed and he

¡»«ed his head to one side,

iou have just admitted your

g^** he'd never mi»

/TWs like saying if you

.five dollars from a mil

never mis, that

¡t a¿¡S»*- 1**» »tat make

Cbuck poked me in the

chest with his finger,
righteously indignant now,
apparently. "You're confusing
plain, simple logic with some
lund of argle-bargle moral
code," he said, talking louder.
"Man, I thought you were a
swinger. I thought you made
the scene, in spite of your age.
But I guess I was wrong . . ."

"To both of our surprises, I
guess you were. Just take the
avocados out of the car and
we can forget the whole
thing."

"Listen, I went to a lot of

trouble-"

"Take them out!" J bel-
lowed. Oh, brother, I sounded
like the villain of the play.

But the kid did what I told
him, slowly, reluctantly, pat-
ronisingly-but he did it.

"Now let's go to bed," I
said, and I snapped off the
light and inarched out of the
garage like Napoleon out of
Moscow. That is to say, in
defeat. It wasn't until I got
back to die bedroom that I
realised I hadn't even put the

car away.

Sally was in bed reading.
"What's the matter, darling ?"
she said, putting down her
book. "You look as though
you'd been hit by a falling
piano."

"I just lost my status as a
swinger."

She looked alarmed. "Why?
What happened?"

I gave her a brief summary.
Sally looked thoughtful.
"Well," she said at last, 'Tm
sorry you feel that way about
it, but you only did what you
had to do. I'm glad you did it.
I'm proud of you."

Now, citizens, this is not
one of those stories that ends
right here, where I say to
myself: "Sally's eyes met mine
briefly,' but I knew in that
ringle glance that my wife did
indeed deeply and truly love
me." Good beavens, I knew
that my wife deeply and truly
loved me on page one! No, my
problem was different-and it

wasn't solved.'

My problem was that I had
-and so, to some extent, had
Sally-conned myself into be-
lieving that I could bridge
two generations, live simul-
taneously in two separate cul-
tural environments. It's some
sort of deeply ingrained
American theory, appar-
ently. Act young, think young,
stay young! Follow the hour,
even if it's not your hour!
WeO, I had flunked my test.

Now bear this. And this is
die depressing part. I kissed
Sally good night and she
turned out the light, and we
lay there in the dark pretend-
ing to be asleep. I knew Sally
was pretending, because she
doesn't breathe the same way
when she's really asleep. And
me? Well, you don't have to
convince yourself you're not
asleep. And what was I think-
ing about? -

O, craven man! I was think-
ing- really thinking hard -
about bow I could redeem
myself as a swinger in the eyes
of our two scarcely post
pubescent house guests. But,
of course, it was no use. I am
what I am, and Sally is what
she is, thank goodness. Break-
fast would be uncomfortable,
no doubt. Then the kids would

go home, and that would be

that.

Sally and I got up early.
And we did a strange thing,
both of us, as though we had

come to the same conclusion

in the night. We had appar-
ently arrived at the reverse of
the "if you can't lick 'em, join
'em" philosophy. We had tried
joining 'em. Now we would be
totally ourselves. Even more
our superselves.

The result was that I
shaved even more carefully
than the day before, my bsrr
was neater, my tie perfection.
I brushed my teeth twice. And
Sally was positively dazzling.

We sauntered out on to the
terrace, arm in arm.

The two kids were there
waiting for us. They stood up
from the breakfast table as we
came in. Sky was wearing a
cashmere sweater and a skirt,
a little strand of pearls around

her throat. Her hair was

drawn back and held in place
with one of those elastic rib-
bon things, bright red. "Good
morning," she said, «Tl«T»g

Now, wait. I j

suppose it isn't really true to <
say that Chuck's hair bad \

grown shorter during the j

night, so I won't. But it j
looked as though it had. It

was combed neatly back off j
his forehead, damp and shin- <

ing. He was freshly shaved. |

He wore a clean shirt, an old (
tweed jacket, and a frayed i
necktie with green horseshoes J

all over it that was very much i
askew. But a lot of work had i

gone into it. It made me want j

to cry, that tie. "Yeah, like
good morning, everybody,"
.Chuck said.

Then you know what we
did? We all shook hands.
Everybody with everybody
else. I even shook hands with
SaUy.

We were, I think, signing
a treaty, making a pact,
acknowledging a fundamental

fact of life. Those two nice i
kids were pointing out to us
that' we were not really
swingers. Chuck had got my
message of the night before
and obviously passed it along
to little Sky - hence the
clothes they wore. But they
were telling us something else
as well.

They were saying: You
aren't really like us, but
you've taught us to respect
you. You are as square as
boxes, and deep down we
want you to be. Stay that way
because we need you that way.
So we can be the swingers
or just young, for a time. We
must reluctantly confess that,
while somewhat dreary, you
are honorable folk.

Well. There we all stood in
embarrassingly real proximity
to each other. But I didn't
feel embarrassed, somehow. I
felt like a middle-aged Ameri-
can male-somewhat ordinary
and numerically repetitive,

perhaps-but a secretly, very j
secretly, respected human

creature on this earth. Almost ¡

like st-a parent.

I found I was still holding
Sally's hand, and I gave it one
brief, quick little shake before
I drew out her chair. She sat
down with that easy, proud
to-be-herself way she has, and
I didn't even try to catch her
eye. I didn't have to.

(Copyright)

$