Soundtrack: (You Made Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman---Aretha Franklin
This wasn't the Bill Samuels that Pat thought she knew, the Bill Samuels who had helped so many confused students---including Pat--- to understand how the forces of society and history had helped to shape their attitudes and behaviors and how they, as individual actors, could begin to free themselves of these external societal factors and take control of their own lives, develop their own values, make their own decisions, and take their own actions. Now, Bill himself, seemed to be the one who was confused about... well what was it he was confused about?
Pat recalled only too well how Bill had helped her come to grips with the contradictions in her own life--- on the one hand the racial prejudice and paternalistic misogyny she experienced on a daily basis as a Black woman, while on the other hand the extraordinary privilege she enjoyed as a middle-class college graduate of the U and a rising star at the U Law School. Without realizing it, she'd been rocked back and forth all her life by the competing forces of race, gender, and social class; but, thanks to Bill, she could now recognize when one or more of these societal forces were unduly influencing her behavior or attitudes, and as a result of such recognition, she could make a conscious effort to analyze an issue or situation in a disinterested manner, as free of societal determinants and blinders as possible.
So, it seemed unlikely to Pat that if Bill's present confusion had its roots in societal factors, he wouldn't be having so much difficulty working it out. What then? Could Bill be suffering from some sort of psychological disturbance, maybe even a nervous breakdown?
Oh boy, how the tables seemed to be turning! Pat had hoped Bill would be a sounding board for her, but instead it seemed she might need to act as one for him. She didn’t really want to be in that position and, if it was a psychological problem, she didn't feel competent to help him.
Still, she couldn’t totally ignore what Bill had just said about him being a "mess," so she tried changing the target of his distress from him being a "mess" to his house being one.
"Here," she said, "Hold the bag and I'll throw this mess into it."
However, Bill seemed to be in no condition to continue cleaning up; he put down the bag of garbage and wearily mumbled, "Pat, I've got to sit down. I'm not sure I feel so well."
Pat recalled only too well how Bill had helped her come to grips with the contradictions in her own life--- on the one hand the racial prejudice and paternalistic misogyny she experienced on a daily basis as a Black woman, while on the other hand the extraordinary privilege she enjoyed as a middle-class college graduate of the U and a rising star at the U Law School. Without realizing it, she'd been rocked back and forth all her life by the competing forces of race, gender, and social class; but, thanks to Bill, she could now recognize when one or more of these societal forces were unduly influencing her behavior or attitudes, and as a result of such recognition, she could make a conscious effort to analyze an issue or situation in a disinterested manner, as free of societal determinants and blinders as possible.
So, it seemed unlikely to Pat that if Bill's present confusion had its roots in societal factors, he wouldn't be having so much difficulty working it out. What then? Could Bill be suffering from some sort of psychological disturbance, maybe even a nervous breakdown?
Oh boy, how the tables seemed to be turning! Pat had hoped Bill would be a sounding board for her, but instead it seemed she might need to act as one for him. She didn’t really want to be in that position and, if it was a psychological problem, she didn't feel competent to help him.
Still, she couldn’t totally ignore what Bill had just said about him being a "mess," so she tried changing the target of his distress from him being a "mess" to his house being one.
"Here," she said, "Hold the bag and I'll throw this mess into it."
However, Bill seemed to be in no condition to continue cleaning up; he put down the bag of garbage and wearily mumbled, "Pat, I've got to sit down. I'm not sure I feel so well."
Pat looked around for a chair for Bill, but there weren't any and she realized they had all been moved into other rooms for the party. "Bill, let's go into the living room where you can sit down."
Bill nodded listlessly, but then quickly put his hand over his mouth, as if he were about to vomit. Pat grabbed his arm and walked him into the living room.
"Should we try to wake Carl and send him on his way?" she inquired.
As Bill sank down on the couch, Pat could practically see his mind working overtime, considering her suggestion--- hmmm...Carl is out cold so he can't really hear or see anything, but his presence may provide some non-fraternization cover for Pat being here at this hour of the morning... and sure enough, Bill replied: "No, Pat. That's O.K. Let's just let him sleep it off."
Despite Bill's apparent distress and her own troubled mind, Pat was faintly amused by Bill's almost pathological fear of being detected alone with a student, even an older graduate school student like her. "O.K., Bill, if that's what how you want it to be," she sighed.
Bill looked up at Pat from where he was sitting; he had a lost, pathetic look on his face. “I’m not sure what it is that I want...that’s the problem. I know what I should do, but that’s not necessarily what I want to do.”
Pat was genuinely puzzled. What did he mean by that? She actually didn’t want to know the answer to that question, but at the same time, she didn’t know how to extricate herself from the position she now seemed to be in…that of being Bill’s confidante or, perhaps, confessor.
Pat decided that the best she could do was just encourage Bill to talk about it, to purge it, much as Bill encouraged his students to talk about their prejudices as a way of exorcising them.
"Go ahead Bill. Talk about it. Don't worry about what you think I might think. No matter what it is, you should know that I have the utmost respect for you. I thnk I understand enough about what you've been going through this year to imagine the worst... and still forgive you. Maybe, you need to get it off your chest, so you can forgive yourself."
But as it turned out, Pat could not have imagined how bad Bill's behavior had been. She was genuinely shocked and revolted, as he revealed a pattern of depravity and sexual dysfunction she could simply not reconcile with the man she thought she knew. As Bill spoke, the words flew by in a blur that Pat could only partially grasp.
"O.K., Pat. You asked for it... I... I've been a disgusting sexual predator... I've fucked just about every horny female faculty member at the U and dozens of townie women... And when I say, fucked, I mean fucked. I don't even like these women. I hate them."
As she heard these words, Pat felt a wave of nausea sweep through her. She was sure she was going to vomit on the spot. She tried to stand up, so she could run to the bathroom, but as she rose she felt faint. She reached out her hands to steady herself and found to her surprise that she had grasped Bill's hands.
Her first impulse was to recoil, but instantly she realized that this---holding Bill’s hands--- was exactly what she could do to help him. She could give him unconditional support. No matter how personally repellent she found his behavior, she could be there for him, she could forgive him.
It was as though Bill heard these thoughts because he continued. "Pat? Do you hear what I'm telling you? I've spent the last six months trying to obliterate myself in an orgy of sex and... and... drugs. Quite a few of these women are now avid drug users thanks to me, and I don't mean just grass. I've turned a number of previously straight women on to coke and uppers and downers. I even tripped on acid with two women and got them to have sex with each other while I watched!"
Pat was genuinely puzzled. What did he mean by that? She actually didn’t want to know the answer to that question, but at the same time, she didn’t know how to extricate herself from the position she now seemed to be in…that of being Bill’s confidante or, perhaps, confessor.
Pat decided that the best she could do was just encourage Bill to talk about it, to purge it, much as Bill encouraged his students to talk about their prejudices as a way of exorcising them.
"Go ahead Bill. Talk about it. Don't worry about what you think I might think. No matter what it is, you should know that I have the utmost respect for you. I thnk I understand enough about what you've been going through this year to imagine the worst... and still forgive you. Maybe, you need to get it off your chest, so you can forgive yourself."
But as it turned out, Pat could not have imagined how bad Bill's behavior had been. She was genuinely shocked and revolted, as he revealed a pattern of depravity and sexual dysfunction she could simply not reconcile with the man she thought she knew. As Bill spoke, the words flew by in a blur that Pat could only partially grasp.
"O.K., Pat. You asked for it... I... I've been a disgusting sexual predator... I've fucked just about every horny female faculty member at the U and dozens of townie women... And when I say, fucked, I mean fucked. I don't even like these women. I hate them."
As she heard these words, Pat felt a wave of nausea sweep through her. She was sure she was going to vomit on the spot. She tried to stand up, so she could run to the bathroom, but as she rose she felt faint. She reached out her hands to steady herself and found to her surprise that she had grasped Bill's hands.
Her first impulse was to recoil, but instantly she realized that this---holding Bill’s hands--- was exactly what she could do to help him. She could give him unconditional support. No matter how personally repellent she found his behavior, she could be there for him, she could forgive him.
It was as though Bill heard these thoughts because he continued. "Pat? Do you hear what I'm telling you? I've spent the last six months trying to obliterate myself in an orgy of sex and... and... drugs. Quite a few of these women are now avid drug users thanks to me, and I don't mean just grass. I've turned a number of previously straight women on to coke and uppers and downers. I even tripped on acid with two women and got them to have sex with each other while I watched!"
Pat steeled herself as she took in the words Bill was uttering. "Forgiveness!" she told herself. "Forgive him! He needs your help!"
To Bill, she just said, "That sounds pretty awful, Bill and it seems like you know it better than anyone."
Struggling with her own revulsion, she hesitated before continuing. "But... it happened and that can't be changed. All you can do is try to figure out why... or maybe it isn't even a matter of knowing why. Maybe what you need is just to exorcise whatever demons are haunting you. I have no idea what they might be. You may have an inkling, but my guess is you need some really competent professional help to get at the root of your behavior and your angst."
Bill just stared at the floor. Pat wasn't sure if he had even heard what she just said. She hoped he had. She hoped he would seek out some more professional help because she knew this degree of sickness was beyond her ability to address. She knew she'd have to be content to just be Bill's friend, to support him, but that she couldn't guide him get to the roots of his problems, whatever they might be.
But tonight, Pat realized, she had reached the limit of what she could even offer as a friend. She knew that if she heard one more ugly revelation right now, she would throw up and that this would upset Bill even more. She decided to leave.
Bill was still staring at the floor, as if in a trance. Pat didn't want to break into his thoughts by announcing her departure, so she just bent over and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He didn't stir. She stood up and walked across the room to where she'd left her coat. Bill still didn't move. She looked around the room. It was still a mess and Carl was still passed out where he'd been when they first got back. Well, Bill would just have to deal with the mess later. She had to go. She needed to clear her head.
Pat walked out the door into the early-morning sunshine. She shook herself and headed back toward her room for the third time in the past eight hours. This had been one hell of a New Years Eve and morning! Never had she been so confused by sex or by her own sexuality. She felt almost out of control. She, Patricia Richardson, the queen of self-control and rationality!
Despite herself, as much as Bill's sexual depravity disgusted her, it also titillated her and made her wonder what it would have been like to be one of those women he’d screwed. No! It was too disturbing to even imagine… and yet thoughts of Bill and her having sex flooded in. With great effort, she thrust these thoughts away from her.
Think about someone else, she told herself. Like Jake. Yeah, Jake. What had that been all about with Jake? She must have been sending out some kind of sexual vibes or he'd never have hit on her. They'd known each other for years and Jake surely thought of her as a prude, which she was, of course. Yet, tonight, he seemed to sense that something sexual was stirring in her, which also appeared to be the case.
And, then there was poor Luis! Oh, Patricia! You were very bad tonight! Very bad! How could you have kissed that poor man? As Pat reached her building, she found herself humming to herself the Aretha song to which she and Jake had danced at the party.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
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Aretha Franklin
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New Year's Eve 1968: Pat, Scene 8 "What a Mess"
Aretha Franklin
Go to the next scene in Pat's story
TBD
Go to the previous scene in Pat's story
New Year's Eve 1968: Pat, Scene 8 "What a Mess"
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