Erich Segal - Oliver's Story

'I thought you'd need a friend. I'll stay until you settle things.'

'But what about your lawsuit?'

'Screw it. You were more important.' And I grabbed her waist.

'Are you berserk?' she whispered, anything but angry.

'Yeah. Berserk from sleeping — or not sleeping — in a double bed alone. Berserk from missing you across the plywood toast and soggy eggs. Berserk — '

'Hey, friend,' she said, and pointed to the other room, 'I'm in a meeting.'

Who gave a shit what all the flannelites could hear. I ranted on. '— and I was wondering if even in your presidential turmoil, you might also feel a little bit berserk and— '

'Schmuck,' she whispered sternly, 'I am in a meeting.'

'I can see you're busy, Marce. But look — just take your time, and when you're finished, I'll be waiting in my room.'

'This could last forever … '

'Then I'll wait forever.'

Marcie dug the sound of that.

'Okay, my friend.'

She kissed me on the cheek. And then went back to her affairs.

'Oh, my love, my Aphrodite, my exquisite rhapsody … '

Jean-Pierre Aumont, a Foreign Legion officer, was putting it to some pneumatic desert princess, who was gasping, 'Non non non, beware mon père!'

It was after midnight and this ancient movie was the only game in town on Denver television.

Otherwise, my company was a diminishing supply of Coors. I was so punchy I was talking to the screen.

'For Christ's sake, Jean-Pierre, just rip off tier costume!' He paid no heed to me and kept the bullshit — and his hands — too high.

Until a knock.

Thank God.

'Hi, baby,' Marcie said.

She was tired-looking, and her hair was semi-loose. The way I like it.

'How's it going?'

'I sent everybody home.'

'Did you solve it all?'

'Oh, no. It's all a hopeless mess. May I come in?'

I was so exhausted I was slouching in the doorway, sort of blocking her.

She came in. Took off her shoes. Flopped on the bed. And then looked wearily at me.

You big romantic schmuck. You punted that important case?'

I smiled.

'I had priorities,' I answered. 'You were off in Denver in a bind. And I just thought you needed someone to be there with you.'

'It's nice,' she said. 'It's slightly crazy, but it's awful nice.'

I got onto the bed and took her in my arms.

In roughly fifteen seconds we were both asleep.

I had this dream: that Marcie slipped into my tent and while I slumbered, whispered, 'Oliver, we're gonna spend the day together. Just the two of us. And get as high as possible.'

When I awoke I saw a dream come true.

Marcie stood there, dressed for snow. And in her hand a ski suit that might just fit me.

'Come on,' she said. 'We're going to a mountain.'

'But what about your meeting?'

'It's with you today. I'll reconvene the others after dinner.'

'Jesus, Marcie, what's got into you?'

'Priorities.' She smiled.

Marcie knocked a person's head off.

The victim was a snowman and the cause of death decapitation by a snowball.

'What's the next game?' I inquired.

'I'll tell you after lunch,' she said.

Where precisely in the vast expanse of Rocky Mountain Park we now were camping, I had no idea. But nothing animate was visible from us to the horizon. And the loudest noise was footsteps crunching snow. Unadulterated whiteness everywhere. Like nature's wedding cake.

She maybe couldn't light a city stove, but Marcie was fantastic with a can of Sterno. We dined on soup and sandwich in the Rockies. Screw all fancy restaurants. And all legal obligations. And all telephones. And any city population more than two.

'Where exactly are we?' (Marcie had the compass.)

'Sort of slightly east of Nowhere in Particular.'

'I like the neighborhood.'

'And if you hadn't pulled your bull-in-china-:;hop routine, I'd still be back in Denver in a smoke-filled room.'

She made coffee on the Sterno. Experts might have called it not too good or barely drinkable, and yet it made me warm.

'Marcie,' I said, only half in jest, 'you are a closet cook.'

'But only in the wilderness … '

'Then that's your place in life.'

She looked at me. Then looked around and radiated happiness.

'I wish we didn't have to leave,' she said.

'We don't,' I answered.

And my tone was serious.

'Marcie, we could stay here till the glaciers melted, or until we wanted to comb beaches. Or canoe the Amazon. I mean it.'

She hesitated. Pondering how to react to my — what was it? A suggestion? A proposal?

'Are you sort of testing me or are you sort of serious?' she asked.

'I'm sort of both. I could be seduced to quit the rat race, couldn't you? I mean not many people have our options … '

'Come on, Barrett,' she protested, 'you're the most ambitious guy I've ever met. Except for me. I bet you even dream of being President.'

I smiled. But presidential timber cannot tell a lie.

'Okay. I did. But lately I've been thinking I would rather teach my kids to ice-skate.'

'Really?'

Not facetious, she was honestly surprised.

'Only if they want to learn,' I added. 'Couldn't you get pleasure out of something noncompetitive?'

She thought a second.

'It certainly would be a new experience,' she answered. 'Till you came along I only got my rocks off from those look-at-me type victories … '

'Tell me what you think would make you happy now.'

'A guy,' she said.

'What kind?'

'Who wouldn't wholly buy my act, I guess. Who'd understand that what I really want is … not to always be the boss.'

I waited, while the mountains sat in silence, offering no comment.

'You,' she said at last.

'I'm glad,' I answered.

'What should we do now, Oliver?'

We were high on quiet. And our sentences were punctuated with reflective pauses.

'Wanna know what you should do?' I said.

'Yes.'

I breathed deeply and then told her.

'Sell the stores.'

She nearly dropped her coffee.

'Whaat?'

'Listen, Marcie, I could write a thesis on the life style of a store-chain president. It's constant motion, constant changes, fire engine always ready in the driveway.'

'All too true.'

'Well, that may be great for business, but relationships are just the opposite. They need lots of time and very little motion.'

Marcie didn't answer. So I lectured on.

'Therefore,' I said blithely, 'sell all your stores. We'll get a lush consultancy for you in any city you would like. I can chase the ambulances anywhere. Then maybe we could both grow roots. And grow some other little things.'

'You're dreaming.' Marcie laughed.

'And you are full of shit,' I answered. 'You're still too much in love with your own power.'

This was not expressed in tones acusatory. Though it was the goddamn truth.

'Hey,' she said, 'you tested me.'

'I did,' I answered, 'and you flunked.'

'You're arrogant and selfish,' she said pdayfully.

I nodded yes. 'I'm also human.'

Marcie looked at me. 'But will you stick with me …?'

'The snow has gotta melt,' I said.

And then we rose, hiked arm in arm back to the car.

And drove to Denver. Where there wasn't any snow at all.

It was Wednesday evening by the time we reached New York. Marcie'd set her Denver house in order by that morning and we even toyed with going for another snowball fight. But superego triumphed. It was time to work again. And I could even give some help to Barry Pollack in the homestretch (we had kept in touch by phone).

The line for cabs was endless and we froze our heels. At last our turn arrived. And right before us stood a crumpled piece of yellow tin. In other words, a New York taxi.