Erich Segal - Oliver's Story

'Oh?'

'Like Cleveland, for example.'

'Are we back to Cleveland?' Marcie said.

'Just how were you registered in Cleveland?' lawyer Barrett barreled in.

'Actually, I wasn't,' she replied. Unhesitatingly. And unabashedly.

Aha!

'I mean I didn't stay in a hotel,' she added casually.

Oho?

'But were you actually there?'

She crinkled up her mouth.

'Oliver,' she said after a moment. 'What's the purpose of this inquisition?'

I smiled. I poured another glass, refueling in midair. And tried a different line of questioning.

'Marcie, friends should level with each other, don't you think?' That had seemed effective. My use of 'friends' evoked a spark.

'Obviously,' Marcie said.

Perhaps my flattery, my quiet tone of voice, softened her. And so I asked directly, showing no scintilla of emotional involvement:

'Marcie, are you hiding certain facts about yourself?'

'I really was in Cleveland, Oliver,' she said.

'Okay, but are you camouflaging other things?'

There was a pause.

And then she nodded yes.

See, I was right. The air was clear at last. Or clearing, anyway.

And yet the rest was silence. Marcie simply sat there and withheld all further comment. Yet now something of her aura of serene self-confidence had visibly diminished. She looked almost vulnerable. I felt a twinge of sympathy. Which I suppressed.

'Well …?' I said.

She reached across the table and she touched my hand. 'Hey, look. I know, I've been evasive. But please take it easy. I'll come through.'

What was that supposed to mean? Her hand remained on mine.

'Can we order dinner?' Marcie said.

What now? I asked myself. Settle for a slight postponement? Run the risk of never getting back to where we were: the verge of truth?

'Marcie, can we cover one or two more little topics first?'

She hesitated. Then replied, 'If you insist.'

'Please help me put the pieces of a puzzle in their place, okay?' She simply nodded. And I launched into a summary of the incriminating evidence.

'What would one conclude about a lady who gave no address or phone? Who travelled and sojourned in unknown places incognito? Who never specified — indeed avoided — all discussion of her occupation?'

Marcie offered no assistance. 'What do you conclude?' she asked.

'You're shacking up with someone,' I said. Calmly and without recrimination.

She smiled a slightly nervous smile. And shook her head.

'Or else you're married. Or he's married.'

She looked at me.

'Am I supposed to check the answer on your questionnaire?'

'Yes.'

'None of the above.'

Like hell, I thought.

'Why would I be seeing you?' she asked.

'Your contract's nonexclusive.'

She did not seem flattered.

'Oliver, I'm not that kind of person.'

'All right, then what kind are you?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'A little insecure.'

'You're full of shit.'

That was uncalled for. And I instantly regretted saying it.

'Is that a sample of your courtroom manner, Mr Barrett?'

'No,' I said politely. 'But here I couldn't nail you down for perjury.'

'Oliver, stop being such a creep! A marginally nice and not too unattractive woman throws herself right at you. And instead of acting like a normal man, you play the Grand Inquisitor!'

That 'normal' zinger really sliced me. What a bitch. 'Look, if you don't like it, Marcie, you can call it off.'

'I didn't notice anything was on. But if you feel the sudden need to go to court — or church — or to a monastery — go !'

'With pleasure,' I replied, and rose.

'Good-bye,' she said.

'Good-bye,' I said. But neither of us moved.

'Go on — I'll take the check,' she said. And waved me off as if I was a fly.

But I would not be shooed.

'Hey, look, I'm not a total bastard. I won't leave you all alone here, miles from nowhere.'

'Please don't be gallant. I've got a car outside.'

Again a valve exploded in my brain. I'd caught this bitch red-handed in another lie!

'You claimed you'd never been here, Marcie. How the hell'd your car arrive — remote control?'

'Oliver,' she said, now flushed with anger, 'it is none of your damn paranoiac business. But to set you on your way, I'll simply tell you that a guy I work with dropped it off. Because regardless of the outcome of our rendezvous, I have to be in Hartford in the morning.'

'Why Hartford?' I demanded, though it really wasn't any of my business.

'Because my fancy lover wants to buy me some insurance!' Marcie shouted. 'Now go soak your head.'

I'd really gone too far and too fast. I was confused. I mean I sensed that we should both stop shouting and sit down. But then we'd just exchanged a violent set of 'go to hells'. And so I had to go.

A summer rain was falling as I fumbled trying to unlock my car.

'Hey — can we take a drive around the block?'

Marcie was behind me, looking very solemn. She had left the inn without a coat or anything.

'No, Marcie,' I replied. 'We've already gone around in far too many circles.' I unlocked the car.

'Oliver, I've got a reason.'

'Oh, I'm sure you do.'

'You didn't give me half a chance.'

'You didn't give me half a truth.'

I got in and closed the door. Marcie stood there as I revved the motor. Motionless and staring at me. As I slowly passed her, I rolled down the window.

'Will you call me?' she said quietly.

'You forget,' I answered, with no little irony, 'I haven't got your number. Think of that.'

At which I shifted gears and gunned it from the courtyard to the road.

And thence to New York City, to forget Miss Marcie Nash forever.

'What were you frightened of?'

This was Dr London's only comment after I'd recounted everything.

'I never said that I was frightened.'

'But you ran off.'

'Look, it became as clear as day that Marcie was a not so nice girl on the make.'

'You mean seducing you?'

He was naive.

' "On the make",' I then explained as patiently as possible, 'because my name is Barrett, and it doesn't take much research to discover that I come from money.'

There. I'd made my point. Now there was silence in the court.

'You don't believe that,' Dr London said at last. His certainty that I was not convinced forced me to think again.

'I guess I don't,' I said.

There was another silence.

'All right, you're the doctor. What exactly did I feel?'

'Oliver,' said London. 'You are here precisely to improve communications with yourself.' He asked again, 'How did you feel?'

'A little vulnerable.'

'And …?'

'A little scared.'

'Of what?'

I couldn't answer right away. In fact, I was incapable of answering out loud. I was afraid. But not because I thought she'd tell me: 'Yeah, I'm living with an all-star fullback who's a Ph.D. in astrophysics and who turns me on.'

No. I rather think that I was scared of hearing:

'Oliver, I like you.'

Which would shake me up much more.

Granted Marcie was a mystery. But she was neither Mata Hari nor the whore of Babylon. Indeed, her single fault was that she didn't have an obvious, convenient fault. (I'd had to find her one!) And Marcie's lies, whatever may have prompted them, did not excuse the falsehood that I told myself.

That I was not … involved.

Because I nearly was. I very nearly was.

That's why I panicked and I fled. Because in almost liking someone else I felt disloyal to the only girl I ever loved.