BY REASON OF INSANITY by Edward L. Woodyard

By Reason of Insanity Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mara was doing an MFA graduate acting program at NYU which was where I had been in medical school. I was almost thirty and she was twenty-four. I looked at her again which reconfirmed my initial reaction to her. She was cute as hell – and I couldn't help but notice her simply because she was so unlike my fellow PGY residents who defined nerd, geek and dork in excess. I had balked at dating any of the women in the program for fear of having my sexual performance dissected worse that a frog in a high school biology lab. I was no porn star – and didn't want to be. I wanted someone to love unconditionally and without restraint, but such a woman had been elusive at best: until I met Mara. I had almost been engaged to my college sweetheart, but remained abstinent after a horrible break-up which was a catalyst for what sent me into psychoanalysis in the first place. Subsequently, I had told Mara that we should be as chaste as Abelard and Heloise – until such time that we shouldn't be. We dated platonically for many months in New York before we even consummated our relationship, which was on a lonely beach north of Trancas during a visit to Bel Air for her father's birthday.

During our first months together in New York, Mara changed the major for her master's degree from acting to graphic art. We had been to an exhibit at the Met on Impressionism, which was what I thought had influenced her decision; however, it was seeing Hokusai's woodblock print of the Great Wave off of Kanagawa that prompted her epiphany. With art, she could be in control and not have to endure rejection by agents and directors, something she was obsessing over because of her father. She lacked the vanity and self-absorption to be a successful actress. She didn't want to self-flagellate every time she was denied an acting part. She was a realist. She had talked herself into being an actress because her father had wanted her to be one; it was what almost every daughter of a Hollywood mogul aspired to be, if only to please Daddy – and Jarrett J. Johnson was one of those influential and exorbitantly wealthy powerbrokers. We were married before she could get her degree, so she became an artist on her own. She only needed her own approval for what she was doing; however, she could be a brutal judge of her own work.

We dated for seven months, but had insisted that it be nonphysical, both of us agreeing that sex couldn't be the reason we wanted to be together. We both had other goals in life at that time, besides devoting our full attention to each other. However, that abstinence didn't stop us from making our hearts grow fonder; we realized just how serious things were getting between us, especially when we introduced one another to our parents.

Mara met my parents before I met was able to meet hers. I couldn't believe that we didn't break up after that first encounter. Mom and Dad had driven up to Manhattan from Philadelphia when my mother addressed a labor relations symposium at the Waldorf Astoria which was where they stayed and we had dinner at a far table in the Bull and Bear Bar.

When I picked up Mara at her apartment, she was the most beautiful I had ever seen her. She was sophisticated and elegant; her blonde hair was twirled and piled simply on her head and she wore a black crushed velvet cocktail dress, highlighted with a single strand of freshwater pearls at her neck and no earrings. I was dazzled and awe-struck. I knew then that I would never deserve her and surely would never be worthy of her. When she saw me gaping at her, she told me to either find a good oral surgeon or rent a front-end loader to lift my jaw back in place. She pushed us toward the elevator, saying that we were late. We then took a taxi uptown to the hotel.

I warned Mara as we passed the World's Fair Clock in the lobby that my mother was a very successful businesswoman which had made my father an alcoholic. I also didn't mention Alan, something I hadn't discussed yet, hoping that his name wouldn't come up in conversation.

Mom and Dad were already seated when the maître d' showed Mara and me to their table in a rear corner. A server was replenishing a scotch on the rocks for Dad while Mom politely sipped a white wine. Dad could be a haughty bore when he was drunk which would not leave Mara with a good first impression. I saw Mom nudge Dad to stand up from his chair as we approached the table. Mara knew immediately what to do by offering her hand first to Mom and then to Dad, after which I seated Mara across from Mom. When the initial introductions and pleasantries ensued, Dad's conversational gambit to me was, "Whoa! You got yourself a prize filly."