"That's not fair. I honestly don't care what a man does for a living. It does, however, matter that he has the intelligence to carry on a conversation."
"A conversation about...what?" her younger sister, Deanne, asked. "Classical music and art history?"
"No. It doesn't need to be about those particular subjects," her sister replied a little too defensively.
She hesitated knowing she'd been cornered and said, "Not necessarily."
"Donna? I'm not calling you a snob, okay? I'm just trying to point out the reason why you have so little luck where men are concerned."
"I date!" donna said even more defensively.
"True. You do date. Once or twice and that's it. And there's a reason for that. You know it, and I know it, but only one of us is willing to admit it. And it has nothing to do with looks, because you are a very attractive woman. For someone who's...forty," Deanne said, twisting the knife she'd just plunged into her sister's ego.
"Oh. Okay. Well, just remember your day is coming."
"Yes it is. In another five years," her sister said with the laugh that drove her elder sibling crazy.
Donna Hartley hated being 40. The only thing she hated more was being 40 and single. Then again, she might possibly hate it when her 35-year old sister, Deanne Conway, a wife and mother of two beautiful little girls, picked at her like this even more than that. Okay, it might even be possible that knowing Deanne was right hurt most of all. It just felt so mean and personal, and having recently turned 40 made it all the more hurtful.
"Why do you do this?" Donna asked.
"Do what?" Deanne replied as though she had no idea what her sister meant.
"Pick. At scabs."
Deanne was picking, but she'd tried every other way she knew to break her sister out of her narrowly-focused mold that involved the two things she loved above all else: her job as a conservator-restorer at The Art Institute of Chicago and classical music. Deanne had no interest in art and she hated classical music. She agreed with her husband, Tim, who said the only thing more boring than listening to it was watching paint dry. But with paint, it didn't make any noise, and at least there was something to look at when it dried.
Deanne understood it, but she not only didn't like it, she knew she never would. But that's because she and her sister were as different as two siblings with the same parents could be.
Deanne was a happy-go-lucky free spirit who'd barely managed to get into a state school, and who barely graduated due to her love of partying and boys. She'd changed a lot over of the years due to the responsibilities that came with raising children, but deep down, she was still a fun-loving girl who preferred going to country bars with her husband on date nights and hoisting a few.
Donna was the older, quieter, more serious girl who'd been a straight-A student in school. As in...all school from elementary through college. She'd majored in art history in at The University of Illinois then spent two years at the prestigious School of the Art Institute in Chicago where she earned a masters degree in Historic Preservation.
Her work was good enough to earn her an apprenticeship with one of the world's foremost conservator-restorers in the world, Dr. Ira Mazlow, at The Art Institute of Chicago. By the time Donna was 35, she was almost as well known for her talents and skills as her mentor who felt confident enough in her abilities to finally retire, and Donna begun training apprentices herself.
It was during her undergraduate years that she developed a love of classical music, and had it been possible, she'd have done something similar in that field. Due to the very generous salary she was paid for her work, Donna Hartley owned nearly every known piece of classical music ever written. Not the scores themselves, even though she had many of them. They were only copies, but she treasured them almost as much as the music. Rather, she had high-quality recordings of everything from Bach to Mozart to Verdi to Paganini to Chopin to Tchaikovski and many, many more.
Her idea of fun was spending 10-12 hours each day painstakingly working to restore some famous piece of art be it a painting, a sculpture, ceramics, textiles, paper works, books, or historical artifacts then attend a symphony or the opera on the weekend.
Ironically, Donna enjoyed lovemaking almost as much as her other passions. But the problem was finding a man who fit her ideal, an ideal that melded art, classic music, and lovemaking into one man. Her one, ideal man.
It wasn't that there weren't men with similar interests in a city the size of Chicago. The issue was more that Donna was extremely good at finding fault with those men. They were either too stuffy, too inattentive, insufficiently attractive to her, or just...inefficient...in bed. And in most cases, she quickly located two or more such faults and that was the end of things before they got started.
Deanne was the only other person on earth who knew about this impossible 'cocktail of needs' her sister had come up with and now believed was essential, and she was definitely the only person who could get away with telling her how ridiculous and unrealistic it was. Donna really was still a very attractive woman who, well...attracted...a lot of attention from men. But finding this mysterious Mr. Perfect was the elusive Holy Grail of her life.
There was more irony in that Donna Hartley looked so much like Sarah Rafferty, the legal secretary on the hit TV show Suits, who was also named Donna in the show, that it was uncanny. Both were beautiful, strawberry blondes with amazing figures and faces to match. Donna didn't see it, but she'd heard it so many times she gave up fighting it and thanked anyone who told her she had a TV twin.
In response to Donna's question about 'picking at scabs', Deanne softened her tone.
"I just want you to be happy, Donna."
"What makes you think I'm not?" her sister asked.
"Seriously, Donna? Yoo-hoo! Hel-looo! I'm your sister. I know you. And even better, you're the one who's told me more than once how much you wish you had a husband."
Deanne let up even more when she brought up the most sensitive issue of all.
"And children."
Turning 40 was eating at her sister in a way Deanne had never seen before. The reason why was obvious, even if Donna wouldn't admit it. And that reason was getting married to someone she could both love and respect, and having a baby before she no longer could. So now, with no husband, no boyfriend, and no prospects, Donna was at a low point in her life as she often wondered if she would ever find someone who met all of her prerequisites.
For her, it had all been a matter of priorities. Marriage and a family had to wait until she finished college. But then came grad school, another huge priority. And how could she even think about marriage until she was firmly established in her new career? When that happened, she had apprentices to mentor and there were always new, interesting projects to work on. And then suddenly she was 40 and couldn't understand how or why.
"I'm sorry," Deanne said almost immediately. "But would it hurt you to try looking at someone who doesn't share all of your passions?"
When Donna gave her a raised-eyebrow look, Deanne laughed and said, "Okay. He's gotta be good in bed. That's a given."
When her sister laughed, too, Deanne felt like she'd just forged a new connection.
"I can't imagine living with a man who's ideal is watching football on Sunday and drinking beer with his friends," Donna told her.
"Why do you go to the extreme all the time?" Deanne replied, a hint of exasperation returning to her voice.
Donna started to say she wasn't, but again, her sister had her boxed in.
"Because I'm trying to paint a picture of a life I would hate to juxtapose with one I'd love."
She hesitated then smiled before saying, "And I'd hate that even if he was really good in bed."
The two sisters laughed and shared another moment before Deanne asked, "Okay. So no football. Or even sports. But what if he was say...a man of science? Or how about a writer or a poet? Is there anyone you'd consider who wasn't as familiar with art and classical music as you are?"
"I already said I don't care what a man does for a living," Donna replied rather defensively.
"Would you date say...a firefighter or a police officer?"
Donna made a face which answered the question.
"What if he knew art and loved the kind of music you do?" Deanne said, trying a different angle.
"Then he wouldn't be a police officer. He'd be an art conservator or maybe a composer."
"What about a rap star?" her sister asked out a renewed sense of frustration.
"Okay. We're done!" Donna announced, signaling she couldn't take any more of The Weekly Inquisition with its star, Deanne Conway.
Deanne never really thought that this particular talk, one in a long line of similar discussions, was going to change anything. She just hated seeing her sister like this, and it was getting to the point where she felt like giving up. It was a bit like having a friend with a terminal disease. No matter how much one might want to help, at some point there just wasn't anything more to be done.
But Donna didn't have a disease. She just needed to be more open to... Deanne didn't have the answer to her own question, but she posed it anyway.
"Can you just maybe...try...to be more...open-minded?" she asked with a little shrug of her shoulders.
"Oh, okay. What you really mean is, 'Can I just stop being who I am and be more like you', right?"
Donna wasn't trying to be mean, but she could tell her words hurt her little sister.
"I'm sorry, Dee-nan," she said almost immediately using her name the way Deanne pronounced it when she was two or three.
"No. It's okay. I know my endless pushing and nosiness is annoying, so I suppose I had that coming," Deanne said as she got up to leave.
"I'm glad you came by," Donna told her as she got up, too, and walked Deanne to the door of her upscale apartment just two blocks from the museum where she worked.
"Same here," Deanne told her as they hugged goodbye.
"Can I expect you again next week?" Donna asked.
Deanne smiled and said, "Yes. Of course. Always."
