My Real Memoir
I was still running my little school of the arts (and secretly living in a back room there) while attending Drama grad school. I wanted to direct. But because of my eleventh hour application, I’d been shoehorned in as an Acting/Directing major, a utility player.
So, my advisor pulled me from the bullpen, and assigned me a lead role in Born Yesterday, a 1940s romantic comedy. As before, I had my shoulder-length hair and beard buzzed, leaving only a caterpillar moustache. When I returned from the barbershop, everyone said, “Wait—what’s different? Ohhh, you grew a moustache!” As if I’d grown it on my lunch break.
I was cranky about forcing the play into my bloated schedule. Until I met my leading lady. Ruby was a blonde, blue-eyed masterpiece of landscaping. To her aggravation, Hollywood kept offering her hooker and stripper roles, when she was, in fact, a terrific actress. And yet it was as if she was her character in the play. Like Billie, the ingenuous mistress of a corrupt junk dealer, Ruby was bright, but had always been advised to focus on her physical assets.
I, on the other hand, like my character in the play, Billie’s tutor, had always been encouraged to read and think. Off-stage, Ruby and I talked non-stop. I’d recommend books, and encourage her to examine her life, and she’d light up when she had an “Aha!” We began to lean into each other, and touch each other’s hair as we talked.
Our director, Casey, was concerned. And she had reason to be. Because Ruby was married. So, Casey took me aside, and said, “Mitch, you two light up the stage together—but leave it on the stage.” She even set me up with a friend who had a crush on me.
I went out with Laura to put Casey’s mind at rest. She was sweet, but we had nothing in common. Well, there was one thing. She worked for a phone answering service, and a horrific client had just picked her apart psychologically. “He’s a psychiatrist,” she sobbed, “and he always does this to me.”
“Is his name Dr. Prodder?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said. “How could you know that?”
“He’s my landlord!”
Laura was willing, so I spent the night with her. But I came down with a bad case of shame the next day. True, I was promiscuous and felt no need to justify myself (it was the 70s, dammit). But I knew that, for Laura, this was “hopeful sex,” not casual sex. And I’d done it anyway.
The show was a hit. So was the cast party. Before long, Ruby and I were in a kitchen corner, limbs entangled, kissing hungrily. Not like in the play, but like lovers. Her marriage was on the rocks, she told me. She and her husband had been the best-looking couple in high school. So naturally they’d gotten married. And then she’d realized she didn’t like him. He never even came to see her plays. So, yes…
Ruby was willing, no, wanting, she said, to spend the night with me. Minutes later, in the parking lot outside my clandestine apartment, she asked, “Well, do I come in?” I wanted her to, wanted it badly. She wasn’t Laura, I told myself, and yet that same fever of guilt came over me. Maybe divorce was inevitable. But she was still married.
And so, even though I wasn’t sure what code I actually lived by anymore, I said, “No. Go home. Please, Ruby. Before I change my mind.” And at that moment…
I hated having a conscience.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
I love this Vinette, and I love the choice made here.
Need to queue up a tacky Gary Pucket and the Union Gap song in the background.
You’re right, Mark. They had the market cornered for a while on “no matter how hot she is, do the right thing songs.” ;>)
It reveals how much you really cared for Ruby ❤️
So kind of you to say that, Lisa.
I love your writing style
Why, thank you, Catherin.
Love it and I can relate. At times having a conscience or even worse a heart and a brain can be a huge burden. Then again it shows what one is made of.
So it does, Michael.
You’re youthful escapades must have prepared you to be a very protective father while raising two daughters! 🙂
They did indeed, Nancy.
Wonderful! I don’t know how so many of us get through it, Mitch. Maybe the prayer of a grand/parent. You highlight it here — how humanly hard it is when we’re young, and the night has a million choices, and all but one are wrong.
Thank you for your thoughtful reflection, Carol.
Good man! As you have discovered long ago I’m sure, decisions that seem small at the time can exert a powerful shaping influence… whether positively or negatively.
You’re so right, my Anonymous friend.
I hope you at least felt better about yourself the next day.
Not sure, Kara, but yes, I think I did.
You may not have acknowledged God at this point in your life, but he was no doubt exerting positive influence just the same. He knew what kind of Jesus-follower you’d become and was steering you in that direction. He was also steering you out of trouble!
<3
Let it never be said
The romance is dead
‘Cause there’s so little else
Occupying my head …
Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.
(Kaiser Chiefs– Ruby Lyrics)
;>)
Thanks for the post, I’ve been there many times, your post are always amazing and thought provoking
I’m so happy to hear that, L.G.
You were growing into who you are. Or is that whom you are? Never mind; it’s who you became! 🙏✝️
;>) Thanks, Gail.
People often grow as they keep doing the thing they are doing
Great Post
Really great story. You writing is so nice with pleasure of life . 🤗
Thank you so much, Sneska.
The ’70s (and ’60s) were tempestuous days – it was fun, scary and exciting, having your conscience like a Jiminy Cricket reminding you of righteous decisions – where was the little devil on my shoulder? Oh yeah, that was me.
Great post!
Thanks, OO (afraid I don’t know your name).
I agree, consciences can be inconvenient! But I seem to be stuck with mine, which is actually a good thing. And I love this story about yours….
Thanks, Ann.
Wonderful post, Mitch! Truth. More conscience and perhaps less regrets?
Now you tell me! ;>) Thanks, Peggy.
Thanks for sharing, Mitch; I’m thankful that even though you weren’t sure about your “code” at that time, you didn’t sleep with Ruby. Our God-given conscience is a wonderful gift even if we don’t always think of it that way.
Great scene for that novel you are working on😉
;>)
That’s a great ending, first because you don’t want to be the other man, second because you would not have to live with the regret. TFS
blessings.
Thanks, Pete.
Thank goodness for a conscience, even though it rains on your parade. Of course you did the right thing.
Thank you, dear Jennie.
You are welcome, Mitch.
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