Never let one woman have power over you. As long as there are many women, one woman can never have too much power.
Sam sat on a stool behind the bar and poured himself another Chivas Regal. He'd made sure to lock the door so no one could come in and try to talk him out of his drinking, which they'd been trying to do more and more lately. Especially Coach.
He hated himself for the sad, resigned look on Coach's weathered face. But how could Coach understand what he was going through?
He unplugged the phone's receiver and hid it behind some boxes. For some reason, that was enough to keep himself from picking it up. This time of night, he usually got that horrible urge - the one he dreaded - the urge to call Diane – to apologize for everything, and beg her to come back to him.
But he knew if he kept drinking, drank himself into oblivion, then he could pass out and the urge would mercifully disappear.
Never let one woman gain power over you.
Boy, had he messed that one up.
He thought back to the first woman who had total control over him – his mother.
How hard he had tried to please her – he'd eventually given up. Sam was the best athlete in school – in a school known for its athletics. He could throw a 95-mile per hour fastball when he was 15.
But what did any of that matter when his brother Derek was a straight-A student, Harvard bound, the star of every damn theater production, played piano like a professional, was so good-looking he'd modeled for teen catalogues – and was quarterback of the high school football team?
He remembered how his mom would show off Derek's triumphs to visitors – his trophies, his plaques, his ribbons – and would even drag out his report card on occasion.
Why didn't she ever at least mention that Sam had led the baseball team to a junior year championship?
There was a time when Sam had liked learning. A time when he thought he might be an archaeologist or airline pilot – something that allowed him to travel to far-flung places.
But somewhere in middle school, all of the words on the blackboard started to make no sense to him. He would call out answers and get laughed at. He stopped calling.
Eventually, he was diagnosed with dyslexia. They had put him into a "special" class – the class with the dumb kids. He felt the shame emanating off of his parents. Their focus turned entirely to Derek – he was their great white hope for moving up in the world.
It was about this time he began nourishing a different talent – getting girls to like him.
He found that he could talk to them in a way that got their attention. He equal parts flattered and insulted them. He always did it in a joking, playful way – they seemed to love it. It became the one thing he was so good at that even Derek couldn't compete with him.
Sam was halfway through his tumbler and he poured himself some more. He loved the way his mind almost melted when he drank. He could think of anything – no matter how painful – and it wasn't painful anymore. It just was. Nothing could hurt him when he drank.
How dare Diane Chambers come in here and act like he was a complete moron! How could she know what he'd been through?
Of course, he'd never really told her. He already knew she was basically ashamed of him – hadn't she proved that several times over? He didn't want her even more ashamed.
He remembered getting through that damn book War and Peace. Sure, he'd skipped large swaths of it – but he'd gotten the gist.
When he told her he'd read it, he expected her to applaud him, to look at him like she was amazed and impressed.
Instead, she dismissed his achievement – told him it was the "most overanalyzed book ever" – then proceeded to flirt with Sumner Sloane in front of him all night – in French, no less! As if he was too stupid to see what was happening!
How he'd despised her that night. She was just like his mother.
Sure, they'd made up later – they always did – but that had planted the seed. She was definitely going to throw him over one of these days for a man like Sumner.
He could hear the speech in his head – it haunted him. He figured it would happen just when he'd totally let down his guard – then she would come to him, look at him with those big blue eyes full of empathy and compassion, and cut him to the core.
She'd say something like, "Sam, I know we've had a good time, but we both know we're not right for each other. I've met a man who understands me. He's a great artist. We like the same books. He speaks French. Sam, you're a lovely man and you should find the type of woman who can make you happy."
Oh yeah. He could hear it.
He'd been pretty sure he was going to hear that speech when that crazy-looking painter took a liking to her. He thought if he ordered her not to see the painter that she would balk and break up with him. Then he'd never have to hear that speech. If he ever did hear that speech, it was going to destroy him.
Never let one woman have power over you.
He remembered talking to the reporter for Boston magazine. At first, he'd thought the feature was about local athletes. But she kept asking him personal questions. He thought maybe she was just hitting on him – hell, it happened all of the time. Women could be as bad as men in that area.
Every time she asked him about his personal life, he thought about bringing up Diane, and yet he couldn't do it. He knew as soon as he did, the woman's attention would shut down.
He craved her attention – not because he wanted her, she wasn't that pretty anyway. But he loved the attention. It filled some strange, inexplicably huge void inside of him.
He remembered the reporter asking what type of women Sam liked.
He thought of a woman who was nothing like Diane. And then he listed all of those qualities.
"I love a woman who is fun, easy-going, likes sports and hot dogs and who can down a beer or two, looks good in a pair of tight jeans, and who … likes to please her man."
So would you date a feminist? The reporter had asked.
"If that means a woman who is feminine, yes," he'd answered, and gave her a cheeky grin.
On some level he knew he was saying all of this just to piss off Diane. Why did he want to push her away so badly?
He remembered one time he had really let down his guard. Coach had bought that stupid, overpriced weight and fortune machine.
He had gotten into an argument with Diane about her inviting another man back to her apartment. Did she think he was so dumb that he didn't know what was up with that?
Sure, he knew she didn't sleep with the guy – but no doubt she'd been sizing up her options. He knew how she must have looked at him – Diane had a peculiar, captivating way of looking like at a man like she adored him - even if she didn't. That got her into trouble sometimes. One time an ex-convict had tried to strangle her because of it.
They had broken up that night. And then they had argued about who had broken up with who first.
At one point, Diane had come to him – pleadingly, begging him to take back what he had said.
Sam had allowed himself to be totally vulnerable with her. Had given her his soul – put it right in the palm of her perfectly-manicured little hand.
"Of course I didn't break up with you," he'd said, and hugged her. He felt every barrier he'd erected around his heart tumble down.
And then she'd pushed him away and snapped, "Good, then that means I'm first!"
When she did that, he felt himself grow cold - felt ice form around his heart. He would never EVER let her do that to him again.
They had made up that night – and had some mind-blowing sex as he recalled – but something inside of him had shifted. She wasn't the vulnerable soul she made herself out to be. She was capable of crushing him if she thought it would put her on top.
Now his thoughts were beginning to become jumbled and scattered. He was getting bone-tired. Good.
Normally at this point, he would plug the phone back in and get out his little black book. He would open it to a random page, close his eyes, and point. Whomever his finger landed on would be the woman he would call – the woman he would have sex with that night.
That's what it was – having sex. Diane was the only woman he had ever made love to.
That included his ex-wife, Deborah. That poor, trusting, goodhearted soul. She wasn't a complex woman – not like Diane. He knew what he was getting with Deborah.
She liked the same things he did – sports, movies, pizza, beer. They'd make popcorn and watch some silly TV show - the type of thing Diane would never watch.
He could really relax with Deborah. He could never, ever relax with Diane.
He remembered how Deborah was always smiling, laughing. By the time Sam Malone had gotten done with her, she wasn't smiling so much anymore.
He'd cheated on her, of course, but only when he was on the road. He told himself that didn't count - besides, she must have expected it, right?
But then word had gotten back to her and she'd asked for a divorce. Oddly, they'd remained friendly, and they didn't even bother to file for many months.
The only thing she didn't like about him was his drinking. He carried great shame over the way he'd treated her.
Yes, yes, his black book… but he was too drunk at this point to deal with anyone. And by now he knew he couldn't drive. He'd just go sleep it off in his office. There was always tomorrow - always another woman.
What was Diane doing right now?
He downed the last bitter swallow of liquid in his tumbler – and tried unsuccessfully to push that thought to the back of his mind.
Goddamn it, he had loved her. How had they screwed this up so badly?
Love was poison. He'd never get himself into that situation again – what a fool he'd been. A stupid, stupid fool.
Let her have the type of man she wanted. The type who could talk to her about the things she wanted to talk about. Screw her!
And then Sam wiped his face. He'd been crying. Not much, but a little. He hated himself for it – and yet it felt so good.
Diane was probably in some snooty café right now – leaning flirtatiously over a small round table as some preppy brainiac read Kirke- kierka- whoever it was to her.
She was probably awe-struck and smiling at him – telling him how funny and smart he was. Shining those big goo-goo eyes at him like she did with Sumner that night.
Sam was suddenly seized with the desire to go claim her. He knew which cafes she liked. He'd stride right up to her, grab her by the arms, sweep her up and carry her off. He'd carry her all the way to his place if he had to.
God, how he loved to hear her moan and whisper his name. When she gave herself fully to him like that, he felt like a king.
She was the only woman he had ever wanted to please not because it made him feel good, but because it made her feel good.
He thought about how sweet and caring she could be with the people in the bar - always trying to help them, even if they didn't appreciate it - even when they treated her poorly. And he ached for her so much that he thought he would burst.
She had chosen him over Derek. Chosen him.
And yet he had crawled into bed with a woman without even breaking up with Diane first - he had made out with her, shoved his hands up her dress and cupped her full breasts.
He'd felt so empty doing that. Almost nauseated with himself. He'd practically run away from her - telling her he couldn't, he just couldn't.
For some insane reason, he'd told Diane about this, thinking she would be proud of him. What kind of an idiot was he?! And yet … she had forgiven him.
Yes, yes, screw this. He would go get her! He would forgive her for everything, just as she had always forgiven him. He wanted her so badly he thought he would crawl out of his own skin.
He took two steps away from the bar and almost fell down.
Get back to the office, Mayday. Sleep it off.
Luckily, he knew that by the time morning broke, all thoughts of carrying her off, ravishing her until she couldn't breathe, promising her everything, giving her everything, would vanish with the daylight.
Thank god for that. Thank god.
Sam Malone was done playing the fool.