So this is what Babe has decided: he will be a husband in name only, trapped in a marriage in which he is the guardian to an alcoholic, and in torturing himself he will do penance for cheating on Myrtle with other women.
Viola Morse has gone the way of the divorce proceedings. She and Babe are temporarily estranged. Babe has replaced Viola Morse with Lillian DeBorba, who is the mother of a child actor, Dorothy DeBorba, one of Our Gang. Dorothy DeBorba is capable of crying on cue, which endears her to Hal Roach who admires any actor that can produce on demand, especially if the actor works cheap. Babe has managed to secure Lillian DeBorba a part as an extra in Sons of the Desert, so they will have an excuse for being seen together.
He, meanwhile, is dating Ruth. He visits her boutique shortly after returning from Catalina Island, buys some neckties, and asks her out. Only when he manages to convince her that his divorce is imminent – he would not be the first man to make such a claim in order to get a woman into bed, and so this process of persuasion takes some time – does Ruth agree to a date.
As with Babe and Lillian DeBorba, he has managed to secure Ruth a part as an extra in Sons of the Desert, so they will have an excuse for being seen together.
He knows about Lillian DeBorba, and Babe knows about Ruth.
But no one else does.
He is back in Ben Shipman’s office. It is October 9th. They are engaged in a final consultation about the divorce hearing, which will take place the following day. He is not entirely sure why his presence is required in the office. He and Ben Shipman could have clarified any remaining details over the telephone.
Ben Shipman is softly spoken. Rival attorneys often find themselves leaning forward just to hear what is being said by Ben Shipman, which is when Ben Shipman sucker-punches them.
Just as Ben Shipman does with him, right now.
Who exactly, Ben Shipman asks, is Ruth Rogers?
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The newspapers all take a similar approach to reporting the divorce hearing, which is some variation on the old line, also uncomfortably familiar to Babe, that life with a comedian is anything but funny. Lois accuses him of being absent from home for long periods, and refusing to tell her where he has been upon his return, but this is now about the limit of her complaints. It could, as Ben Shipman tells him, be much worse, especially if someone had discovered that his new girlfriend, who is not even an actress, was working on his latest picture. The day before, Ben Shipman has exercised himself considerably while explaining to him just how foolish he has been in consorting so openly with Ruth.
He has never been shouted at so quietly.
The judge grants the decree. There is no reason why the judge should not. After all, he is not contesting it. In fact, as Lois reiterates in court, he recently told her that she could not get a divorce quickly enough for his liking, which is true. He regrets it now. He is a private man, and wishes that all these words spoken in anger could have been shared with the judge in a less public forum, but the law requires it this way.
It is ritual.
It is theater.
Lois gets the house, and custody of their daughter. Some horse-trading remains to be done over the alimony payments, but Ben Shipman warns him not to expect much mercy.
So it’s done, says Ben Shipman. You have what you wanted. I’d suggest that you don’t immediately go parading your new girlfriend around town, but when have you ever listened to anything I have to say?
They are drinking in Ben Shipman’s office. It is late in the afternoon. The building is quiet apart from a low, nauseating buzzing, the source of which he cannot locate, but that he fears may lie in his own head.
How do you feel? asks Ben Shipman.
– Whatever it is, it’s not what I thought I’d be feeling.
– You expected relief, maybe?
– Yes.
– Let me tell you something. You and Babe Hardy, you’re sweet men. I like you both very, very much. Babe’s problems are different from yours, and that’s all I’ll say about them. You probably know as much as I do about Babe’s private life, but I’m still his lawyer, and I won’t discuss his difficulties with you any more than I would discuss yours with him.
But you, you didn’t have a terrible marriage. Lois wasn’t a bad woman, and you’re not a bad man. The two of you made a lovely daughter together. As for what happened to your boy, that was bad luck – the worst, just the worst – but you don’t need me to tell you that.
So no one got beaten. No one got cheated out of money. No one was a drunk. No one was an addict. Two people met, they got along, they fell in love, they stopped getting along, they separated. You’re not blameless – you know your own weaknesses, and I’m not going to remind you of what they are; although, God knows, women aren’t low on the list – but neither was Lois entirely without fault.
What I’m trying to explain is that there’s no reason for you to feel relieved, not at this moment. Relief may come later, when you want to try again and no obstacle will stand in your path. But, you know, for now it’s okay to feel something else. It’s okay to feel sad, and maybe you should feel sad. In fact, I would expect nothing less of you.
Go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be better, and the day after that will be better still. I’ll call you when I have any news, or you can just call me if you want to talk. I won’t even bill you for my time.
But he doesn’t have a home, not any longer, so he goes back to South Palm Drive. In a bedroom that is not his own, he stares at his divorce papers. When he first began seeing Ruth, he promised to bring the papers to her as confirmation that he was serious in his intentions. They are already past that stage, but eventually he will show them to her nonetheless.
Just not yet.
Just not now.
He starts to cry. He cries for a dead marriage and a dead child. He climbs into bed, pulls a blanket over his head, and stays there as the light fades. He does not eat, and eventually he falls asleep.
Ben Shipman lies. The next day is no better.
But the day after is.
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At the Oceana Apartments, he keeps in his desk a letter to Lois Neilson, his ex-wife, a letter he writes and rewrites but never sends. He and Lois still see each other occasionally, because of their daughter. Too many years have gone by for them to remain angry at each other.
He cannot say why the letter remains unfinished, and therefore unsent. It may be that Lois already knows everything it contains. If so, then he is writing it not for her but for himself. It is an ongoing conversation with his grief.
The substance of the letter, in all its forms, is the same. Only the words change. It tells Lois Neilson that he thinks of her with fondness. It tells her that no day goes by without some small remembrance of their son. It tells her that he has imagined many different lives for their lost child, but in each the boy is happy.
It tells her that he is sorry.
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