Erich Segal: Love Story

'Goddammit, Oliver, will you explain what's going on?'

We were now a few hundred yards from shore.

'I have something to tell you,' I said.

'Couldn't you have told it on dry land?' she yelled.

'No, goddammit,' I yelled back (we were neither of us angry, but there was lots of wind, and we had to shout to be heard).

'I wanted to be alone with you. Look what I have.'

I waved the envelope at her. She immediately recognized the letterhead.

'Hey — Harvard Law School! Have you been kicked out?'

'Guess again, you optimistic bitch,' I yelled.

'You were first in the class!' she guessed.

I was now almost ashamed to tell her.

'Not quite. Third.'

'Oh,' she said. 'Only third?'

'Listen — that still means I make the goddamn Law Review' I shouted.

She just sat there with an absolute no-expression expression.

'Christ, Jenny,' I kind of whined, 'say something!'

'Not until I meet numbers one and two,' she said.

I looked at her, hoping she would break into the smile I knew she was suppressing.

'C'mon, Jenny!' I pleaded.

'I'm leaving. Good-bye,' she said, and jumped immediately into the water. I dove right in after her and the next thing I knew we were both hanging on to the side of the boat and giggling.

'Hey,' I said in one of my wittier observations, 'you went overboard for me.'

'Don't be too cocky,' she replied. 'Third is still only third.'

'Hey, listen, you bitch,' I said.

'What, you bastard?' she replied.

'I owe you a helluva lot,' I said sincerely.

'Not true, you bastard, not true,' she answered.

'Not true?' I inquired, somewhat surprised.

'You owe me everything,' she said.

That night we blew twenty-three bucks on a lobster dinner at a fancy place in Yarmouth. Jenny was still reserving judgment until she could check out the two gentlemen who had, as she put it, 'defeated me.'

Stupid as it sounds, I was so in love with her that the moment we got back to Cambridge, I rushed to find out who the first two guys were. I was relieved to discover that the top man, Erwin Blasband, City College '64, was bookish, bespectacled, nonathletic and not her type, and the number — two man was Bella Landau, Bryn Mawr '64, a girl. This was all to the good, especially since Bella Landau was rather cool looking (as lady law students go), and I could twit Jenny a bit with 'details' of what went on in those late-night hours at Gannett House, the Law Review building. And Jesus, there were late nights. It was not unusual for me to come home at two or three in the morning. I mean, six courses, plus editing the Law Review, plus the fact that I actually authored an article in one of the issues ('Legal Assistance for the Urban Poor: A Study of Boston's Roxbury District' by Oliver Barrett IV, HLR, March, 1966, pp. 861–908).

'A good piece. A really good piece.'

That's all Joel Fleishman, the senior editor, could repeat again and again. Frankly, I had expected a more articulate compliment from the guy who would next year clerk for Justice Douglas, but that's all he kept saying as he checked over my final draft. Christ, Jenny had told me it was 'incisive, intelligent and really well written.' Couldn't Fleishman match that?

'Fleishman called it a good piece, Jen.'

'Jesus, did I wait up so late just to hear that?' she said. 'Didn't he comment on your research, or your style, or anything?'

'No, Jen. He just called it 'good.' '

'Then what took you all this long?'

I gave her a little wink.

'I had some stuff to go over with Bella Landau,' I said.

'Oh?' she said.

I couldn't read the tone.

'Are you jealous?' I asked straight out.

'No; I've got much better legs,' she said.

'Can you write a brief?'

'Can she make lasagna?'

'Yes,' I answered. 'Matter of fact, she brought some over to Gannett House tonight. Everybody said they were as good as your legs.'

Jenny nodded, 'I'll bet.'

'What do you say to that?' I said.

'Does Bella Landau pay your rent?' she asked.

'Damn,' I replied, 'why can't I ever quit when I'm ahead?'

'Because, Preppie,' said my loving wife, 'you never are.'

We finished in that order.

I mean, Erwin, Bella and myself were the top three in the Law School graduating class. The time for triumph was at hand. Job interviews. Offers. Pleas. Snow jobs. Everywhere I turned somebody seemed to be waving a flag that read: 'Work for us, Barrett!'

But I followed only the green flags. I mean, I wasn't totally crass, but I eliminated the prestige alternatives, like clerking for a judge, and the public service alternatives, like Department of Justice, in favor of a lucrative job that would get the dirty word 'scrounge' out of our goddamn vocabulary.

Third though I was, I enjoyed one inestimable advantage in competing for the best legal spots. I was the only guy in the top ten who wasn't Jewish. (And anyone who says it doesn't matter is full of it.) Christ, there are dozens of firms who will kiss the ass of a WASP who can merely pass the bar. Consider the case of yours truly: Law Review, All-Ivy, Harvard and you know what else. Hordes of people were fighting to get my name and numeral onto their stationery. I felt like a bonus baby — and I loved every minute of it.

There was one especially intriguing offer from a firm in Los Angeles. The recruiter, Mr.— (why risk a lawsuit?), kept telling me:

'Barrett baby, in our territory we get it all the time. Day and night. I mean, we can even have it sent up to the office!'

Not that we were interested in California, but I'd still like to know precisely what Mr.— was discussing. Jenny and I came up with some pretty wild possibilities, but for L.A. they probably weren't wild enough. (I finally had to get Mr.— off my back by telling him that I really didn't care for 'it' at all. He was crestfallen.)

Actually, we had made up our minds to stay on the East Coast. As it turned out, we still had dozens of fantastic offers from Boston, New York and Washington. Jenny at one time thought D.C. might be good ('You could check out the White House, Ol'), but I leaned toward New York. And so, with my wife's blessing, I finally said yes to the firm of Jonas and Marsh, a prestigious office (Marsh was a former Attorney General) that was very civil-liberties oriented ('You can do good and make good at once,' said Jenny). Also, they really snowed me. I mean, old man Jonas came up to Boston, took us to dinner at Pier Four and sent Jenny flowers the next day.

Jenny went around for a week sort of singing a jingle that went 'Jonas, Marsh and Barrett.' I told her not so fast and she told me to go screw because I was probably singing the same tune in my head. I don't have to tell you she was right.

Allow me to mention, however, that Jonas and Marsh paid Oliver Barrett IV $11,800, the absolute highest salary received by any member of our graduating class.

So you see I was only third academically.

CHANGE OF ADDRESS

From July 1, 1967

Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Barrett IV

263 East 63rd Street

New York, N.Y. 10021

'It's so nouveau riche,' complained Jenny.

'But we are nouveau riche,' I insisted.

What was adding to my overall feeling of euphoric triumph was the fact that the monthly rate for my car was damn near as much as we had paid for our entire apartment in Cambridge! Jonas and Marsh was an easy ten-minute walk (or strut — I preferred the latter gait), and so were the fancy shops like Bonwit's and so forth where I insisted that my wife, the bitch, immediately open accounts and start spending.

'Why, Oliver?'

'Because, goddammit, Jenny, I want to be taken advantage of!'

I joined the Harvard Club of New York, proposed by Raymond Stratton '64, newly returned to civilian life after having actually shot at some Vietcong ('I'm not positive it was VC, actually. I heard noises, so I opened fire at the bushes'). Ray and I played squash at least three times a week, and I made a mental note, giving myself three years to become Club champion. Whether it was merely because I had resurfaced in Harvard territory, or because word of my Law School successes had gotten around (I didn't brag about the salary, honest), my 'friends' discovered me once more. We had moved in at the height of the summer (I had to take a cram course for the New York bar exam), and the first invitations were for weekends.