Hello, Young Lovers

Thank you, Mary Tyler Moore.

I thought that you'd done enough for America already, keeping us wild-eyed insomniacs happy with reruns of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, routing all our two-A.M. demons and making us laugh instead.

But now, Mary, you've married Dr. Robert Levine, cardiologist, who some magazines say is 29, while others have decided he's 30. But all the magazines tell us you're 45, and they all say you're blissfully happy and nuzzle with your new husband in public a lot.

Because you're so popular, Mary, everything you do turns immediately into status quo. Not that it wasn't pleasant to find out that Carly Simon, 38, has a boyfriend of 27, or that Olivia Newton-John, 35, has a 25-year-old sweetie, or that Linda, 37, was cavorting with a 21-year-old before she took up with George Lucas. But, after all, they're only singers, whereas you're Mary, everybody's favorite. Women identify with you; men chastely adore you. You've made everything OK, and now other, not-so-famous women--I, for one--can come out of the closet. It was getting boring, apologizing: "Oh, well, I know he's a decade younger than I, but you'd be surprised how (text continued on page 212) Hello, Young Lovers (continued from page 128) mature he is ..." or "Well, we do sleep together occasionally, but really I'm only kidding. I'll put him back in a minute."

Even more tedious was hearing how it would never work out. Friends, acquaintances, the meter man, my upstairs neighbor, even the mailman would screw their eyes into a disapproving, condescending but somehow lascivious glint, much like the one elderly men must get from the madam when they enter a whorehouse. "Honey," said my best friend, with her typical Texas directness, "it sounds OK for now, but don't you be trying to make a future out of it."

Another friend said, with typical limey viciousness, "The equivalent for a man of what you've got would be a teenaged blonde with big tits." I wanted to shoot him in the arm.

Why, Mary, do people react with such fear and loathing when they find anyone transgressing the social norm? An age difference of a decade, if the man is older, is considered fine, even dandy. Even two decades' difference, and nobody looks askance. People sing a happy tune and think of something else. A man of 60, if he happens to be rich, is probably in the habit of dandling naked 18-year-olds on his knee, and all anyone says to him is "More power to you, Herb, you lucky devil!" Yet I personally have been treated more than once like a pervert.

The problem may well be one of power. Sexual attraction, at its most superficial, is based either on physical beauty or on power. In our culture, youth is tantamount to beauty. So the older woman, since she isn't adolescently nubile, must be powerful. And that, of course, is weird, since traditionally, women are honor bound to be supportive, nurturing, compliant and passive, not presidents of corporations or superstar singers.

But things, as they will, change. Women in their 30s, 40s, even 50s and 60s, now self-sufficient and successful, are taking young lovers, men who don't have to assume the role of provider.

It's fun. I'm crazy about my boyfriend. He's witty, sensible, smart, kindhearted and quite probably the sexiest man on the planet. If he feels threatened by my success, he keeps it to himself. In fact, he actually seems to like it, unlike some of my ex-lovers, my age or older, who used to get snively and whiny when my pay check was bigger than theirs, or who used to retreat in sullen silence for days if I happened to get more attention at a party than they did. Ah, the freedom of it all!

Here are some of the advantages of a young lover:

Sex: Everyone knows that we old broads of 30 or so want it all the time. Too much, for us, ain't enough. A woman allegedly reaches her sexual peak at 35, though I know some 40-year-olds who dispute that, who say they just get hornier and hornier. Yet a man reaches his sexual peak at 18. This is mother nature's little joke, and it's not funny. If you're a mature woman who wants it morning, noon and night, where to turn but the cradle?

Exigency: Available men in their 30s are as rare as kangaroos in Manhattan. If a 35-year-old man is not psychotic, not gay, not married and solvent, he is in grave danger of being kidnaped. An available, sane man in his 40s is even rarer, and if he's in his 50s, he could make the Guinness Book of World Records. If a man is in his 60s or 70s and becomes a widower, lines of women bearing chicken casseroles immediately form around his block. But there are plenty of 25-year-olds running around loose.

Enthusiasm: The younger a man is, the more he bubbles. If you say to a 45-year-old, "How about we move to Peru?" or "What d'ya say we become Zen Buddhists?" he will develop a peptic ulcer on the spot, whereas a 25-year-old, or at least my 25-year-old, is constantly brimming with adventure. He often makes me feel like a stick-in-the-mud and, believe me, I am a girl who will do anything for a laugh. But that didn't include climbing mountains, until him.

Innocence: There is such a thing as too much sophistication. Several years on the sexual battle front breeds weariness, jadedness and the diminishing of honest emotional response. A man (or a woman) who's 30 or 40 and still running around must have had his heart broken three or four times, not to mention a probable ex-wife or two and all the alimony and child support that entails. People who have been hurt become increasingly self-protective. They are loath to put their hearts on the line and will play any game in the world to avoid it. If I had a dime for every time I've heard a 37-year-old man say, "Sure I care for you, baby, but I'm not ready for a commitment right now," I could move out of this rat's nest of an apartment and into a palace. A younger person carries less emotional baggage; he won't get angry with you because of what the third woman before you did. When he says "I love you," it's not a terrible risk to believe him.

All of the above is not to say that life with younger men is a total rose bed. I have to admit to a certain chill when he asked, "Who's Julie Christie?" I'm not sure I particularly like the awe in his eyes when I tell him I've been to Woodstock. And it gets very trying when he rejects TV movies because they're not in color.

But these are mere quibbles--offerings to the gods so they won't punish me for my little corner of happiness. This older woman/younger man theme is too jolly to be a mere fad. It's a new, endearing social phenomenon. Mary, I know you'll agree.