Oliver's Story

'Did they like me?'

'I would say you snowed them.'

We had reached the Massachusetts Turnpike. It was dark. Not a creature was stirring.

'Are you pleased?' she asked.

I didn't answer. Marcie had expected verbal cartwheels. And instead I focused on the empty road.

'What's the matter, Oliver?' she said at last.

'You were courting them.'

She seemed surprised that this had irked me.

'What's wrong with that?'

I let a little temper show. 'But why, goddammit? Why?'

A pause.

'Because I want to marry you,' she said.

Fortunately she was driving. I was stunned by the directness of her words. But then she never minces them.

'Then try romancing me!' I said.

She let us drive along with just the wind for background music. Then she answered, 'Is it still a courtship with the two of us? I should think we passed that stage a while ago.'

'Hmm,' I murmured in most noncommittal tones. Because I feared that total silence might imply assent.

'Well, where exactly are we, Oliver?' she asked.

'About three hours from New York,' I said.

'What have I done, precisely?'

We had stopped for coffee at the Ho Jo's after Sturbridge.

I wanted to say: Not enough.

And yet I was sufficiently composed to keep inflammatory words in check.

Because I knew I had been shaken by her matrimonial announcement. And was in no shape to frame a rational response.

'Well, what have I done to piss you off?' she asked again.

I longed to say: It's what you haven't done.

'Forget it, Marcie. We're both tired.'

'Oliver, you're angry at me. Why don't you communicate instead of brood!'

This time she was right.

'Okay,' I started, drawing circles with my finger on the laminated table. 'We've just spent two weeks apart. Even though we both were busy, I dreamed all that time of getting back with you — '

'Oliver — '

'I don't mean just in bed. I mean I craved your company. The two of us together.'

'Oh, come on,' she said. 'It was; a Christmas madness up in Ipswich.'

'It's not just this weekend. I mean all the time.'

She looked at me. I had not raised my voice, but still betrayed my fury.

'Ah, we're back to all my voyages these past few weeks.'

'We're not. I mean the next ten thousand weess.'

'Oliver,' she said. 'I thought what made us work was that we each respected that we had career commitments too.'

She's right. But just in theory.

'Hey — try reaching for "career commitments" when you're all alone at three a.m.'

I sensed a women's lib-stick blow was imminent. But I was wrong.

'Hey,' she softly answered, 'I have. Lots of times.'

She touched my hand.

'Yeah? And what's it like to feel just hotel pillows?' I inquried.

'Lousy,' she replied.

We were always near the end zone, but we never scored. Wasn't it her turn to say let's change the game?

'How do you feel with lonely nights?' I asked.

'I tell myself I have no choice.'

'Do you believe yourself?'

I sensed hostilities at hand, a kind of Armageddon of the life styles.

'What do you want from a woman, Oliver?'

The tone was gentle. And the question loaded.

'Love,' I said.

'In other words, a clinging vine?'

'I'd settle for a few more evenings in the same apartment.'

I would not be philosophical. Or let her in the slightest way invoke the nature of my marriage.

Jenny also worked, goddammit.

'I thought the two of us were happy as a couple.'

'Yeah, when we're with each other. But Marce, it's not a goddamn inventory you replenish just by phone.'

The irony of my commercial metaphors was unappreciated.

'You are saying one of us should tag along and be the other's nanny?'

'I would — if you needed me.'

'Good Christ! I just came out and said I want to marry you!'

She looked tired and exasperated. And the moment really wasn't opportune.

'Let's go,' I said.

I paid. We stepped outside and started toward the car.

'Oliver,' said Marcie.

'Yeah?'

'Isn't it just possible that you're upset in retrospect? I mean because they did like me. And didn't jump for joy when you brought Jenny home?'

'No,' I said. And buried her remark a million fathoms deep.

Marcie, to her credit, is a fighter.

All throughout our Christmas-New Year's truce, I sensed her inwardly preparing for a New Campaign. The foe, of course, was her own instinct to mistrust the world And mine.

Anyway, as much as possible she stayed at home and tried to run the show by telephone. No easy trick with that post-Christmas lunacy. But still she did. She fought long distance. And we spent the nights together. And — amazingly — some afternoons.

Then she sprung the big one on me New Year's Eve. We were readying for the Simpsons' party (yeah, I'd stashed some Alka-Selzer, just in case). As I was shaving, Marcie joined me in the mirror and enhanced the picture. She did not mince words.

'Are you prepared for a commitment, Oliver?'

'Like what?' I asked, a trifle wary.

'Like how about a little trip? In February.'

'And I suppose you've chosen where.' Don't be sarcastic, Oliver, she's worked at this.

'Stay loose — and keep an open mind,' she said. 'It's true I have to check the Hong Kong Fashion Show and — '

'Hong Kong!'

She had caught me with the carrot of the Orient! My smile was hemispheric.

'So you dig, my friend?'

'You said you had to work,' I answered with suspicion.

'To merely show one's face is not exactly work. Besides, the week before is Chinese New Year.

We could have a solo celebration. Then going home, we'd stop off in Hawaii.'

'Well … ' I said. But my expression broadcast: 'Holy shit! Then, ever cautious, I inquired:

'Do you have any business in Hawaii?'

'None. Unless you count collecting coconuts.'

What a New year's proposition!

'Well?' she said.

'I like it, Marce. Especially Hawaii. Quiet beaches … moonlight walks … '

'A sort of honeymoon,' she said.

Intriguing phraseology. I wondered how intentional.

I didn't turn to her. Instead I checked the mirror for a glimpse of her expression.

It was fogged with steam.

I didn't get permission from the boss.

I got encouragement.

Not that they were happy to be rid of me. But I had never had a day's vacation since I joined the firm.

There would be some sacrifices, though. I couldn't: get involved in certain cases. Like the two in Washington involving draft resisters, which were using work I'd done for Webber v. Selective Service. And in February when the Congress would decide on how to deal with the de facto segregation problem. So I had some a priori retrospective qualms.

'You're worried that the world will be set right while you're away' — Mr Jonas smiled — 'but I promise we'll reserve a few injustices for you.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Be a little selfish, Oliver. You've earned it.'

Even while preparing for the trip (the Hong Kong Tourist Office inundates you with material), I handled several cases for the Midnight Raiders. And I blew the whistle on a fraudulent consumer con. Barry Pollack (champion in the School Board case) was following it up.

'Hey, Marce, what was the Treaty of Nanking?'

'It sounds like The Mikado,' she replied.

I would educate her over breakfast, ever dinner, over toothpaste, even interrupt her at the office.

'The Treaty of Nanking, if you must know — '

'Oh, must I?'

'Yes. When the English outaggressed them in the Opium War— '

'Ah — opium.' Her eyes lit up.

I ignored her levity and lectured on.

' — China had to give up Hong Kong to the British.'

'Oh,' she said.

'That's only the beginning,' I replied.

'I see,' said Marcie, 'and the end will be that fighting lawyer Barrett's gonna make them give it back. That right?'

Her smile increased the candlepower in the room.

'What about your homework for the trip?' I asked.

'I've been there several times,' she said.

'Oh yeah? Then tell me what you think of when I say "Hong Kong".'

'The orchids,' Marcie answered. 'All the flowers are incredible, but there are ninety different kinds of orchid.'

Ah, a lovely floral fact. A sensitive tycoon.

'Marcie, I will buy you one of every kind.'

'I'll hold you to it.'

'Anything to make you hold me,' I replied.

New Year is icumen in, loudly sing Kung Fu!

I was dancing through the office, closing files and shaking hands. For tomorrow we'd be heading for the East horizon.

'Don't worry,' said Anita. 'I'll burn candles in your pencil box. Aloha, Oliver.'

'No, no Anita, get it right,' replied the newly venerable sage of Chinese culture. 'Kung hei fat choy.'

'Are you suggesting that I've put on weight?'

'Ah, no, Anita,' sage replied. 'Meaning was our Chinese New Year's wish: Kung hei fat choy — prosperity and happiness. Farewell.'

'Farewell, you lucky bastard.'

Thus we took off.