He was a man of science for whom traditional beliefs and conventions were archaic; reason and logic were his mantra. She was more traditional but burned with an ambition to be a great writer, an aspiration sometimes assailed by feminine self-doubt. As in a classic Greek tragedy, their character traits would combine to lead the pair into treacherous waters.
Ted grew up a small-town Georgia cracker and surprised everyone by earning a Ph.D. at Georgia Tech. Now he was a 31-year old astronomy and physics professor teaching at the University of Alabama, Huntsville and consulting with NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center. Angela was a lively Gulf Coast girl from Mobile and attended the University of Alabama, completing a masters in English Literature. She was an attractive 26-year old who taught creative writing at a local junior college to make ends meet while pursuing her writing ambitions. The couple met in Huntsville shortly after arriving there to work and married two years ago following a brief courtship.
On a mid-November Friday afternoon, the couple sat on their porch in rockers enjoying a glass of Pinot Grigio and some cheese straws. The sun was creeping toward the top of the surrounding ridge lines and the shadows were deepening. There was a crispness in the air, but old man winter had not yet arrived.
They caught up on their day, shared gossip about friends, and argued good naturedly about the relative merits of the Alabama and Georgia Tech football teams; an argument in which Angela enjoyed an easy advantage. They poured a third glass of wine and sat back enjoying the darkening evening, the mild wine buzz, and their congenial companionship.
Ted sipped his wine and munched on a cheese straw. "So how is the novel coming?"
Angela made a face. "Oh pooh! Don't mention that accursed thing. Nothing is working." She sighed deeply, waving her hand in disgust. "I just deleted the whole chapter I have been working on. It was rotten."
Ted nodded. "Writing a novel must be grueling. I read once that Margaret Mitchell took ten years to write Gone with the Wind."
"Oh God, don't say that. I have spent months on my novel. Nothing is working when I try to put it on paper. I must have writer's block."
Ted exclaimed "Ah ha! I have a cure for your writer's block," while grinning and pointing to the sky theatrically.
Angela gave him a sarcastic look. "Oh, really?"
"You must take a lover."
Angela stopped rocking and looked at him like he had lost his mind. "What!" she sputtered.
"Oh, yes, all the great writers do it. Look at D. H. Lawrence. He stole his wife, Frieda, from her husband who had been his professor. Lady Chatterley's Lover is based on the same Frieda cheating on him with an Italian soldier."
Ted took a sip of wine, enjoying pulling Angela's leg. "Then there are the Fitzgeralds and their blatant hanky panky which became the inspiration for Tender is the Night. Also, Norman Mailer and that Latin beauty whose name escapes me, and don't forget Faulkner or the amoral Amantine Dupin, - the list goes on."
Angela rolled her eyes in exaggerated mock exasperation and started back rocking.
Ted grinned. "You writers have a very naughty reputation. See nothing else will do. You must take a lover in order to get your creative juices flowing and complete your novel!"
Angela laughed and waved a hand at him dismissively. "You goof. I am not taking a lover to get my creative or any other juices flowing. Besides what does a nerdy science guy like you know about writing anyway? Or love for that matter."
"Well, I have been sleeping with this really hot author."
Angela groaned. "No, I am not an author. I am a hack. I teach writing because I can't write. Otherwise, I would have finished my novel by now." Angela was suddenly on the verge of tears.
"Whoa. You are an author. You have published six short stories. Don't get discouraged; you are just starting your first novel."
Angela shook her head and gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Ted. But working on this novel is like chewing gristly meat. Nothing is worth keeping. I always wanted to be a famous author, but I just can't do it."
In typical male fashion, Ted plunged in over his head to try to solve his unhappy wife's problem.
Ted patted Angela's hand. "Look, you need a chance to immerse yourself in the novel. Take the spring semester off. Don't teach. We can get by fine without your salary - besides when your novel is a best seller we will be rich! Just take off and write."
Angela gave a discouraged shake of her head. "Oh Ted, I wish it was that easy."
Ted watched his glum wife for a minute. "Okay, we need something to get you inspired. What is the novel about?"
Angela replied with a grumpy pout,"An adulterous heroine in colonial Charleston."
Ted pursed his lips and steepled his fingers thinking. "Okay, that sounds interesting and suitably racy to sell. Let's say after Christmas you go down to Charleston; stay at that grand old bed and breakfast we like. The Church Street Inn. Sit out on their porch and sip sherry; walk along the Battery; poke through old streets and graveyards; that old city just drips inspiration. Write on your novel there for a few weeks."
"I don't know, Ted. It would cost a lot of money."
Ted poured himself another glass of wine. Angela had barely touched her last glass.
Ted cajoled Angela. "Come on. It is not like you to be so down in the mouth. You are usually a full-speed-ahead and damn-the-torpedoes kind of girl."
"I know, Honey, but I feel ..." Angela waved her hands in frustration, "incompetent, dumb, overwhelmed. I don't know."
Ted paused thoughtfully for a few moments stroking his chin as he contemplated the problem. He was feeling very worldly and cosmopolitan in the warm glow of the wine. "Angela, maybe you should take a lover like all of the other famous authors. Just have a wild fling, break all the rules, get fired up, and write a best seller."
Angela gave Ted her best 'are you out of your pea-picking mind' look. "You want me to have an affair?"