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Manipulation
Mar. 2nd, 2011 01:28 pmOf course it turned out that Ben had not told Jayne LeGro that we are working together on the book project.
He told me he had.
“I did? I don’t remember that.”
“You definitely did,” I said. “I can’t imagine why you would lie about something that trivial except it’s second nature to you to lie to me about everything.”
He had the grace to hang his head and look abashed. “I’m trying to be better about that.”
“Then you need to try harder. Funny thing is I know you lie to me about everything but I keep believing you.”
“That’s because your mother was such a compulsive liar,” he said helpfully.
“Yes, and you know what they say: Boys always marry their mothers.” I sighed. “Well, you’re going to have a tough time telling her now. That letter was vicious.”
“I don’t know whether I would characterize it as vicious. It was over the top.”
“I would characterize it as vicious. I don’t get it. Just out of curiosity. Why do you love this woman? She’s not interested in most of the things you’re interested in, she has no sense of humor –“
“Shared history. We had the same childhood. It’s a huge commonality. There are so many references I don’t have to explain.
"And then – it’s a hard one to explain. I find it refreshing that she doesn’t care about a lot of the things I care about. When you and I were together –“ He paused and frowned. “It’s like when you were writing a letter, you would always read it out loud to me and then I would make 17 different suggestions for how to make improve it, and some of the suggestions you would take and some of them you wouldn’t but there was always that process.
"She wouldn’t dream of showing me a letter she had written. She definitely wouldn’t take any of my suggestions if she did show it to me. She’s got this thing: all her thoughts must be her own. She doesn’t want anyone putting words in her mouth ever. Everything is her own choice.
“And she’s not the slightest bit interested in my writing. I mean she knows I write, but she’s never evinced the slightest bit of interest in anything I write or the slightest desire to write herself.”
“So what you’re saying is she doesn’t compete with you –“
He frowned again. “That’s part of it. And then – I’ve told you this before – she’s very domestic and that moves me, touches me immeasurably. I’ve never been around that before. She keeps saying – well, not so much anymore but when we were first together – that she was sure I was going to get tired of her, that she’d never been outside upstate New York. But that’s a huge part of the attraction, that stability.
“I don’t read her very well. I read most people very, very well, but I don’t know what motivates her to act the way she does.”
I held a up single finger. “Right there, that’s the attraction.”
“Huh?”
“Well, if you can’t read her, you can’t manipulate her, right? And you’re a recovering manipuholic -- you’re trying to stop being such a manipulator. She’s forcibly keeping you from being manipulative since you can’t stop on your own. She’s like your jailer.”
“There’s truth to what you say,” he admitted ruefully.
Robin, to whom I recounted this conversation, rolled his eyes. “Sure seems like he’s manipulating her to me! When he snaps his fingers, she rolls over.”
“So, uh, you dad was manipulating me by telling me he couldn’t manipulate her?”
Robin shrugged.
He told me he had.
“I did? I don’t remember that.”
“You definitely did,” I said. “I can’t imagine why you would lie about something that trivial except it’s second nature to you to lie to me about everything.”
He had the grace to hang his head and look abashed. “I’m trying to be better about that.”
“Then you need to try harder. Funny thing is I know you lie to me about everything but I keep believing you.”
“That’s because your mother was such a compulsive liar,” he said helpfully.
“Yes, and you know what they say: Boys always marry their mothers.” I sighed. “Well, you’re going to have a tough time telling her now. That letter was vicious.”
“I don’t know whether I would characterize it as vicious. It was over the top.”
“I would characterize it as vicious. I don’t get it. Just out of curiosity. Why do you love this woman? She’s not interested in most of the things you’re interested in, she has no sense of humor –“
“Shared history. We had the same childhood. It’s a huge commonality. There are so many references I don’t have to explain.
"And then – it’s a hard one to explain. I find it refreshing that she doesn’t care about a lot of the things I care about. When you and I were together –“ He paused and frowned. “It’s like when you were writing a letter, you would always read it out loud to me and then I would make 17 different suggestions for how to make improve it, and some of the suggestions you would take and some of them you wouldn’t but there was always that process.
"She wouldn’t dream of showing me a letter she had written. She definitely wouldn’t take any of my suggestions if she did show it to me. She’s got this thing: all her thoughts must be her own. She doesn’t want anyone putting words in her mouth ever. Everything is her own choice.
“And she’s not the slightest bit interested in my writing. I mean she knows I write, but she’s never evinced the slightest bit of interest in anything I write or the slightest desire to write herself.”
“So what you’re saying is she doesn’t compete with you –“
He frowned again. “That’s part of it. And then – I’ve told you this before – she’s very domestic and that moves me, touches me immeasurably. I’ve never been around that before. She keeps saying – well, not so much anymore but when we were first together – that she was sure I was going to get tired of her, that she’d never been outside upstate New York. But that’s a huge part of the attraction, that stability.
“I don’t read her very well. I read most people very, very well, but I don’t know what motivates her to act the way she does.”
I held a up single finger. “Right there, that’s the attraction.”
“Huh?”
“Well, if you can’t read her, you can’t manipulate her, right? And you’re a recovering manipuholic -- you’re trying to stop being such a manipulator. She’s forcibly keeping you from being manipulative since you can’t stop on your own. She’s like your jailer.”
“There’s truth to what you say,” he admitted ruefully.
Robin, to whom I recounted this conversation, rolled his eyes. “Sure seems like he’s manipulating her to me! When he snaps his fingers, she rolls over.”
“So, uh, you dad was manipulating me by telling me he couldn’t manipulate her?”
Robin shrugged.
