Part I: I Think, Therefore I Cannot Swallow
Chapter 1: Sweet Sticky Serendipity | Page 2
Afterward, Stephen went out of his way to approach me in the hall. Told me not to worry, I was simply on the unpopular side. But my analysis of the case law was quite astute, my marshaling of the facts cogent, my presentation very well-articulated, I just needed a little more confidence, and would I like to go out for a drink so he could give me some pointers. I found him amazingly brilliant, with this spectacular education -- Harvard undergrad, Princeton grad school, and Yale law. He talked on and on about John Rawls' theory of justice, agreeing with the philosopher that if the makers of the social contract were hidden behind a veil of ignorance regarding their position in society, things would be much more egalitarian. And then he went on to deconstruct historian Joan Scott's deconstruction of the 'equality versus difference' binarism plaguing contemporary feminism, before launching into an exegesis of Peter Singer's animal rights theory. I'd just never met a man like that before who spent so much time ruminating, ideating, analyzing -- especially about all of the same issues that had so intrigued me. Suffice it to say, not many of the guys back home knew how to be simultaneously flirtatious and intellectual. I'd learned so much in that afternoon just listening to him. And he kept telling me how intelligent I was and how extraordinary that Yale accepted me, and how I really owed it to myself to be so much more self-confident. He made me feel really smart, like no one, especially a man, had. I was lonely and didn't feel I fit in very well at Yale. My best friend and mentor on the gender and law journal, Samia, being older, was gone by my third year. Stephen became a big part of my life.
At dinner we had a bottle of champagne from their "celebration" list, then shared asparagus wrapped in prosciutto and salmon prepared four ways. Absolutely delectable! After the waitress served us our Frangelicos, Stephen gave me my "little something" - actually two "little somethings;" the first was a red herring. And what a lovely red herring it was. I lifted the box's velvet lid to find the most splendid strand of South Sea pearls. My favorite jewelry: modest, sweet, and classic. At full length it would dangle nearly to my midriff, but could be doubled to hit just above the breast and probably even tripled into a choker. He knelt next to me, cramped though we were at the Lilliputian table, tripled it around my throat and affixed the clasp. Then he told me to close my eyes, began kissing my neck and breathing lightly into my ear - slightly embarrassing given the crowd - but sweet. No one was paying us any mind anyway. Thought he was just about to start unzipping the silly dress, when I suddenly felt something soft and round and slippery-skinned slide into my lap. "Open your eyes," he whispered. I looked down to see a small black leathery-looking... thing perched between my thighs. I just stared, unsure exactly what it was.
"Open it, honey," Stephen laughed. Oh of course, it was a case... I lifted the ball, turned it around, fingered the crack, pried it apart, and saw the ring!
"Ms. Hegel, my beautiful, brilliant intellectual heiress," he whispered in my ear, which he followed with a rather lengthy nibble to my earlobe. "Marry me." Of course I said, "yes." This is what I had so wanted.
The intellectual heiress thing was a joke of course. I'm no relation to the philosopher. Stephen was being sweet. He didn't know about my dad; knew he was some kind of filmmaker, but didn't know the type of films... I'd told him they were small independents - which wasn't a lie at all. Stephen had met only Mom at graduation. Dad was filming and Bebe was in labor with...can't remember, one of them. Stephen had found Mom "charmingly bucolic;" said I should be exceedingly proud of myself for having come so far.
The trouble began when we went to discuss the wedding over dessert at Serendipity: my favorite. Okay, I could be little- girlish at times, but I think that was part of my winsomeness to him. We arrived and I ran to the ladies' room to make sure I didn't look like a raccoon from tearing up in the cab. When I returned to the table, my usual Sticky Chewy Chocolate Marshmallow Mudslide was setting across from Stephen's slice of carrot cake.
I gazed into Stephen's deep blue eyes. "When and where are we going to have it?" I gushed. Stephen looked bemused for a moment before flashing a devilish grin.
"I really hadn't thought about it yet, Sophie," he snickered, boyish dimples spreading across his virile face. "Let's be absolutely unconventional."
"Well, I don't know how unconventional this is," I giggled, "but I was thinking Central Park, since, you know, I'm a, quote unquote, real New Yorker now. They rent out the zoo for private affairs."
"'Private affairs' - I think that means private children's parties, honey," he laughed.
© Swallow is the copyrighted material of Tonya Plank.