Erich Segal - Oliver's Story

'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.

I don't remember much about Hong Kong. Except it was the last time I saw Marcie Binnendale.

We departed Tuesday morning from New York, and stopped just once — in Fairbanks — to refuel. I was anxious to try Baked Alaska on the scene. Marcie wanted to go out and have a snowball fight. Before we could decide, they called us back on board.

We slept as best as possible across three seats. In our festive mood, we joined what swingers call the Mile-High Club. Which means we furtively made love while other passengers enjoyed Clint Eastwood gunning down innumerable baddies for a fistful of dollars.

It was early Wednesday (!) evening when we touched down in Tokyo. We had four hours to change planes. I was so zonked from twenty hours of assorted flying that I not-too-ceremoniously crashed right on a couch in Pan Am's Clipper Lounge. Meanwhile Marcie, ever effervescent, had a conference with some guys who'd come to meet her from the city. (This was in our deal; she'd have four days of duties, then we would take two weeks of screw-the-world vacation.) By the time she woke me for the final leg, she'd worked out all details for exchanging chic boutiques with Takashimaya, the Japanese purveyors of consumer elegance.

I slept no further. I was too excited, looking forward to the lights of Hong Kong Harbor. At last they sparkled into view as we descended just about the midnight hour. It was even better than the pictures I had seen.

John Alexander Hsiang was there to meet us. Clearly he is Number One for Marcie's matters in the Colony. He was late thirtyish, his outfit British and his accent U.S.A. ('I went to B-School in the States,' he said.) He punctuated everything with 'A-okay'. Which did indeed describe all the arrangements he had made.

For, less than twenty minutes after we had landed, we were crossing Hong Kong Harbor from the airport to Victoria, where we'd be staying. The conveyance was a helicopter. And the view spectacular. The city was a diamond in the darkened China Sea.

'Local proverb,' John Hsiang said.' "A million lights shall glow." '

'How come they're up so late?' I asked.

'Our New Year festival.'

You asshole, Barrett! You forgot why you were coming! You even knew it was the Year of the Dog!

'What time will everybody go to bed?'

'Oh, maybe two, three days.' Mr Hsiang smiled.

'I could last about another fifteen seconds,' Marcie sighed.

'You mean you're tired?' I remarked, amazed that Wonder Woman would confess such things.

'Enough to cancel tennis in the morning,' she replied. And kissed my ear.

I couldn't see the outside of the villa in the dark. But it was lush as Hollywood within. The place was halfway up the Peak. Which meant almost a mile above the harbor (higher than our 'copter flew), and so the backyard vista was incredible.

'Too bad it's winter. Just a bit too cold for swimming,' John remarked. I hadn't even noticed that the garden had a pool.

'My head is swimming, John," I said.

'Why don't they have the fashion show in summer?' Marcie asked. We were simply chatting while the staff (an amah and two houseboys) brought in our stuff, unpacked and hung it up.

'Hong Kong summers aren't very pleasant,' John replied. 'Humidity is quite uncomfortable.'

'Yeah, over eighty-five percent,' said Barrett, who had done his homework. And was now awake: enough to quote from it.

'Yes,' said Mr Hsiang. 'Like August in New York.'

Evidently John was loath to grant that anything in Hong Kong wasn't' A-okay'.

'Good night. I hope you will enjoy our city.'

'Oh, no question,' I replied with grand diplomacy. 'It is a many-splendored thing.'

He left. No doubt enthusiastic: at my literary reference.

Marce and I just sat, too far beyond fatigue to go to bed. Houseboy Number One provided wine and orange juice.

'Who owns this pleasure dome?' I asked.

'A landlord. We just rent it by the year. We've got a lot of people coming in and out. It's more convenient if we keep a place.'