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James Bond is drunk. He doesn’t look it – sipping coolly on his martini, his expensive tuxedo immaculate and every hair on his head perfectly gelled into place. His eyes are sharp, and his voice sounds cool and amused as ever. But Felix has known James for a very, very long time, and he knows that his friend is as drunk as a skunk right now.
James is, predictably, staring at a woman. She’s not the kind of woman James is usually into – an unfeminine businesswoman, wearing a pantsuit with her hair cut short in a style not dissimilar to James’ own. Probably a lesbian, Felix thinks. Not that he has any kind of problem with that. It’s 1995, and Felix likes to think of himself as the sort of man who moves with the times. James, on the other hand, has always been determinedly old-fashioned. Felix waits for James to say something cutting about the woman.
But what James actually says, in the carefully enunciated tones of the very drunk, is: “Do you ever wonder what it’s like to be a woman?”
This is not the turn Felix expected the conversation to take. He takes a sip of his drink. “Suppose it’s rather hard. People underestimating you all the time. Men, I mean.”
“Hmph,” James says, sinking back into his chair and finishing his martini. Felix mentally tallies up how many of those he’s had tonight. It’s a high number. “It’s always seemed like a rather easy life to me. Men fall over backwards for a beautiful woman.”
Felix shifts, uneasily. Back when they first met, a long time ago, Felix would probably have agreed with him. But times have changed, and James hasn’t. And Felix is drunk too, and he doesn’t know how to go about explaining to James why he’s wrong.
He’s about to say something about the wage gap, when he looks over and catches James looking back at him, slyly, out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly Felix gets the feeling that James means something other than what he’s saying. That he’s speaking in code, somehow – but not the kind the CIA trains you to decipher
So he just says, uncertainly, “I’m not sure they always want all of that attention.”
James rolls his eyes, as if he thinks that’s ridiculous. He gets to his feet suddenly, strides to the bar, and orders another drink, a rather large one with a complicated order.
“Interesting combination,” Felix says, glancing down into James’ glass. “What do you call it?”
“I call it a Tracy,” James says, coldly, and gulps the drink down. There’s a restless energy vibrating in him, and Felix thinks he’s trying to drown it in alcohol.
Three-quarters of the way through the Tracy, James says, suddenly, “Do you know why I really think women have it good?”
“No?” Felix says, uncertainly. He’s not sure if that’s the right answer. He’s not sure which answer will get him out of this conversation.
“Because – ” James gestures with his glass, struggling to order his drunken thoughts. “Because they’re not playing, d’you see.”
“Playing?” Felix ventures.
“Like an actor. They don’t have to - do all of this nonsense.” James waves vaguely. “Like men do.”
“What nonsense?” Felix asks, truly confused now.
“You know. Put on a suit. Cut your hair short. Walk like a man.” James gestures again with his glass, this time in the vague direction of the businesswoman. “I mean – look at her. Look at what she’s wearing.”
“She’s wearing a suit, James, just like you are,” Felix says. He wonders if perhaps the bartender should have cut James off before now.
“Mnnhh. Exactly. Wearing a suit, just like a man. And she’s just allowed to do it.”
“Well,” Felix says, “It’s a free country. ‘Least it is where I come from. Not sure about you Limeys.”
“I’d get the stuffing kicked out of me if I tried what she’s doing,” James says, softly. And then he laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “I mean, can you imagine that? Me, in a dress?"
Felix hesitates. James is looking at him piercingly, and he has a feeling that laughing at James’ joke would be the wrong thing to do, somehow. “Well - women weren’t allowed to wear pants like that, when we were young, were they?”
“That’s right,” James says, and he drains his glass down, and slams it down on the table. “Men were men and women were women.”
From James, Felix would have expected that line to be glib, but approving. It’s not. It’s harsh and ironic and there’s a lifetime of bitterness tied up in it.
James doesn’t talk about what he feels. That’s a rule Felix has always known about him, about their friendship. But tonight James is just drunk enough to let a glimpse of something, whatever it is, show, and Felix understands instinctively that he’d be a pretty bad friend if he said the wrong thing right now.
He just isn’t quite sure what the right thing is.
“What did you mean a moment ago?” he asks, trying to understand. “Playing like an actor, you said.”
James looks down into his empty glass. “You know. Women can be – natural. Just how they are. But you and I have to – ” He waves a hand vaguely, struggling for words. “Take it like a man. You know. Didn’t you ever – ever – bark your leg as a boy, and hear that? ‘Don’t be a girl about it.’ As if women had a monopoly on having a bad time. It’s not fair.” His eyes swing around to fix Felix in place. “Don’t you ever get tired of it? All the rules. About how to talk, about how to act. What you can and can’t do. Be a man about it. It’s all an act, you know.”
Felix hesitates. “Sometimes,” he admits. And then, after a minute, he says, “In college I was something of a – sensitive type, I suppose you’d say. Or at least I liked to think I was. Hung out with all the bohemian artists and the musicians . . . and half of them were f – were gay. They were . . . good company.” He pauses, and takes a sip of his drink to collect his thoughts. “You know, they say when you join the CIA, that you’re fighting for freedom. But sometimes I think those guys knew more about freedom than anyone in the CIA.” He stops again, and glances at James, uncertainly. “We couldn’t talk about that kind of thing, back in the day,” he says, quietly. “We all knew who in our circle was gay. But it wasn’t safe to talk about it. Things are different now. But I wouldn’t have - wouldn’t have thought you’d approve.”
“I’m a very good actor,” James says, very quietly. He isn’t looking at Felix. His eyes are on the businesswoman again. She’s laughing, and talking to a shapely blonde woman now, and as they watch she leans in and kisses the blonde on the cheek, taking her hand in hers. Felix’s eyes flick to James. James is watching the two women with something like jealousy in his eyes.
“James,” Felix says, carefully. “Are you gay?” He hurries to say, “Not – not that there’d be – anything wrong if you – ”
“No,” James says, shortly. He doesn’t seem offended by the question. “I like women, Felix, you know that.” And then he laughs, and it’s bitter again, and Felix thinks that somehow James is the punchline of his own joke. “Maybe I like women a bit too much, if you know what I mean.”
Felix senses that James is referring to something other than his inveterate womanizing, and once again he doesn’t know where to begin with untangling James’ code. “What does that mean?” he asks, helplessly.
James shakes his head, his mouth set in a bitter, ironic line. “Nothing, Felix. It’s only I’ve always thought women rather got the better half of the deal.” And before Felix can figure out what to say, he stands in one motion, picks up his glass, and very casually drops it to crash on the floor. He looks down at the broken glass with an expression of bitter satisfaction.
“Hey!” says one of the waitresses, shocked into rudeness. “Why the hell’re you breaking things?”
James looks up at her, and gives her his most charming smile. He pats her on the shoulder, kindly and patronizing and very, very drunk. “Because,” he says, “That’s what men do.”
And then he strides out of the bar, head held high, shoulders squared.
By the time Felix has finished sorting out what the hell just happened, he realizes James has stuck him with the bill.