'So long, bride.'
He dressed meticulously in his navy blue suit, with black shoes and socks, a white-on-white shirt, and a pale blue tie of heavy Italian silk patterned with black and silver fleurs-de-lis. On surveying himself in the mirror, however, he decided that the beauty of the tie was a trifle too conspicuous, and so he changed it for a simple pearl gray knit. Viewing himself again as he refastened his jacket, he wished he could as easily exchange his face, temporarily, for one of less distinctive design. There were times, he realized, when being so handsome was a definite handicap. As a step, at least, in the direction of appearing commonplace, he reluctantly donned his one hat, a dove gray fedora, settling the unfamiliar weight cautiously, so as not to disturb his hair.
At five minutes past twelve he was on University Avenue, across the street from the side of the dorm. The sun was almost directly overhead, hot and bright. In the sultry air the occasional sounds of birds and footfalls and grinding streetcars had a rarefied quality, as though coming from behind a glass wall. He stood with his back to the dorm, staring into the window of a hardware store.
At twelve-fifteen, reflected in the window, he saw the door across the street open and Dorothy's green-clad figure appear. For once in her life she was punctual. He turned. She was looking from right to left, her pivoting glance overlooking him completely. In one white-gloved hand she held a purse, in the other, a small valise covered in tan airplane cloth with wide red stripes. He lifted his arm and in a moment she noticed him. With an eager smile she stepped from the curb, waited for a break in the passing traffic, and came towards him.
She was beautiful. Her suit was dark green, with a cluster of white silk sparkling at the throat. Her shoes and purse were brown alligator, and there was a froth of dark green veil floating in her feathery golden hair. When she reached him he grinned and took the valise from her hand. 'All brides are beautiful,' he said, 'but you especially.'
'Gracias, senor.' She looked as though she wanted to kiss him.
A taxicab cruised and slowed in passing. Dorothy looked at him inquiringly, but he shook his head. 'If we're going to economize, we'd better get in practice.' He peered down the avenue. In the glittering air a streetcar approached.
Dorothy drank in the world as if she had been indoors for months. The sky was a shell of perfect blue. The campus, unfolding at the front of the dorm and stretching seven blocks down University Avenue, was quiet, shaded by freshly-green trees. A few students walked the paths; others sprawled on the lawns. 'Just think,' she marveled, 'when we come back this afternoon, we'll be married.'
The streetcar clattered up and groaned to a halt.
They got on.
They sat towards the back of the car, saying little, each enfolded in thoughts. The casual observer would have been uncertain as to whether or not they traveled together.
The lower eight floors of the Blue River Municipal Building were given over to the offices of the city and of Rockwell County, of which Blue River was the county seat. The remaining six floors were rented to private tenants, most of whom were lawyers, doctors and dentists. The building itself was a mixture of modern and classical architecture, a compromise between the functional trend of the thirties and resolute Iowa conservatism. Professors teaching the introductory architecture courses at Stoddard's College of Fine Arts referred to it as an architectural abortion, causing freshmen to laugh self-consciously.
Viewed from above, the building was a hollow square, an airshaft plunging down through the core of it. From the side, setbacks at the eighth and twelfth stories gave it the appearance of three blocks of decreasing size piled one atop the other. Its lines were graceless and stark, its window lintels were traced with factitious Grecian designs, and its three bronze and glass revolving doors were squeezed between giant pillars whose capitals were carved into stylized ears of corn. It was a monstrosity, but on alighting from the streetcar Dorothy turned, paused, and gazed up at it as though it were the cathedral at Chartres.
It was twelve-thirty when they crossed the street, mounted the steps, and pushed through the central revolving door. The marble floored lobby was filled with people going to and from lunch, people hurrying to appointments, people standing and waiting. The sound of voices and the surf of shoes on marble hung susurrant under the vaulted ceiling.
He dropped a pace behind Dorothy, letting her lead the way to the directory board at the side of the lobby. 'Would it be under R for Rockwell County or M for Marriage?' she asked, her eyes intent on the board as he came up beside her. He looked at the board as though oblivious of her presence. 'There it is,' she said triumphantly. 'Marriage License Bureau -six-oh-four.' He turned towards the elevators, which were opposite the revolving doors. Dorothy hurried along beside him. She reached for his hand but the valise was in it. He apparently did not notice her gesture, for he made no move to change hands. One of the four elevators stood open, half filled with waiting passengers. As they approached it, he stepped back a bit, allowing Dorothy to enter first. Then an elderly woman came up and he waited until she too had gone in before entering. The woman smiled at him, pleased by his air of gallantry, doubly unexpected from a young man in a busy office building. She seemed a bit disappointed when he failed to remove his hat. Dorothy smiled at him also, over the head of the woman, who had somehow got between them. He returned the smile with an almost invisible curving; of his lips.
They left the car at the sixth floor, along with two men with briefcases who turned to the right and walked briskly down the corridor. 'Hey, wait for me!' Dorothy protested in an amused whisper as the elevator door clanged shut behind her. She had been the last to leave the car, and he the first. He had turned to the left and walked some fifteen feet, for all the world as though he were alone. He turned, appearing flustered, as she caught up with him and gaily took his arm. Over her head he watched the men with the briefcases reach the other end of the corridor, turn to the right and vanish down the side of the square. 'Where you running?' Dorothy teased. 'Sorry,' he smiled. 'Nervous bridegroom.' They walked along arm in arm, following the left turn the corridor made. Dorothy recited the numbers painted on the doors as they passed them. 'Six-twenty, six-eighteen, six-sixteen...' They had to take another left turn before they reached 604, which was at the back of the square, across from the elevators. He tried the door. It was locked. They read the hours listed on the frosted glass panel and Dorothy moaned dejectedly.
'Damn,' he said. 'I should have called to make sure.' He put down the valise and looked at his watch. 'Twenty-five to one.'
'Twenty-five minutes,' Dorothy said. 'I guess we might as well go downstairs.'
'Those crowds...' he muttered, then paused. 'Hey, I've got an idea.'
'What?'
'The roof. Let's go up on the roof. It's such a beautiful day, I bet well be able to see for miles!'
'Are we allowed?'
'If nobody stops us, we're allowed.' He picked up the valise. 'Come on, get your last look at the world as an unmarried woman.'
She smiled and they began walking, retracing then-path around the square to the bank of elevators where, in a few moments, there glowed above one of the doors a white arrow pointing upwards.
When they left the car at the fourteenth floor, it happened again that they were separated by the other alighting passengers. In the corridor, they waited until these had hurried around the turns or into offices, and then Dorothy said 'Let's go,' in a conspiratorial whisper. She was making an adventure of it. Again they had to make a half-circuit of the building, until, next to room 1402, they found a door marked Stairway. He pushed it open and they entered. The door sighed closed behind them. They were on a landing, with black metal stairs leading up and down. Dim light sifted through a dirt-fogged skylight. They walked upwards; eight steps, a turn, and eight more steps. A door confronted them, heavy reddish-brown metal. He tried the knob.
'Is it locked?'
'I don't think so.'
He put his shoulder to the door and pushed,
'You're going to get your suit filthy.'
The door rested on a ledge, a sort of giant threshold that raised its bottom a foot above the level of the landing. The ledge jutted out, making it difficult for him to apply Ms weight squarely. He put down the valise, braced his shoulder against the door and tried again.
'We can go downstairs and wait,' Dorothy said. 'That door probably hasn't been opened in...'
He clenched his teeth. With the side of his left foot jammed against the base of the ledge, he swung back and then smashed his shoulder against the door with all his strength. It gave, groaning open. The chain of a counterweight clattered. A slice of electric blue sky hit their eyes, blinding after the obscurity of the stairway. There
