Oliver's Story

'Sounds cool,' I said.

'Sounds warm to me,' she smiled.

A silence. Then as casually as possible I queried, 'Are we also booked on high?'

She nodded yes. And added, 'Just in case.'

I wondered why I wasn't as elated as I thought I should be.

'Just in case of what?' I asked.

'Of snow,' she said. And squeezed my hand.

The waitress brought us Marcie's glass and my carafe. The fire joining forces with the wine now warmed in me the feeling of my Right to Know.

'Say, Marcie, in what name did you reserve?'

'Donald Duck,' she answered, poker-faced.

'No, really, Marcie. I'm curious to know the names you pick for checking into different places.'

'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.