earlier to call my mother and tell her not to hold dinner for me. That was smart because the celebration continued onward and outward after
Peach's call. About half of the original group went to dinner to- gether. Lou and Ralph threw in the towel early. But Donovan, Stacey and I-along with three or four die-hards-went to a bar after we ate and we had a good time. Now it is 1:30 and I am blissfully stinko.
The Mazda for safety's sake, it still parked behind the bar. Stacey, who switched to club soda a couple of hours ago, has generously played chauffeur to Bob and me. About ten minutes ago, we nudged Donovan through his kitchen door where he stood there bewildered for a moment before bidding us a good evening. If he remembers, Donovan is supposed to enlist his wife later today to drive us over to the bar and retrieve our vehicles.
Stacey gets out of the car and comes around and opens my door so I can spill myself onto the driveway. Standing up on uncertain legs, I steady myself against the car.
'I've never seen you smile so much,' says Stacey.
'I've got a lot to smile about,' I tell her.
'Wish you could be this happy in staff meetings,' she says.
'Henceforth, I shall smile continuously through all staff meetings,' I proclaim.
'Come on, I'll make sure you get to the door,' she says.
With her hands around my arm to steady me, she guides me up the front walk to the door.
When we're at the door, I ask her, 'How about some cof- fee?'
'No, thanks,' she says. 'It's late and I'd better get home.'
'Sure?'
'Absolutely.'
I fumble with the keys, find the lock, and the door swings open to a dark living room. I turn to Stacey and extend my hand.
'Thank you for a wonderful evening,' I tell her. 'I had a swell time.'
Then as we're shaking hands, I for some reason step back- wards, trip over the doorstep and lose all my balance.
'Woops!'
The next thing I know Stacey and I are sprawled on the floor together. Fortunately-or maybe not as it turns out-Stacey thinks this is colossally funny. She's laughing so hard, tears start to roll down her cheeks. And so I start laughing too. Both of us are rolling on the floor with laughter-when the lights come on.
'You bastard!'
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I look up, my eyes adjusting to the sudden light, and there she is.
'Julie? What are you doing here?'
Without answering, she's now stomping through the kitchen. As I get to my feet and stagger after her, the door to the garage opens. The light switch in the garage clicks. I see her in silhouette for half a second.
'Julie! Wait a minute!'
I hear the garage door rumbling open as I attempt to follow her. As I go into the garage, she's already getting into her car. The door slams. I
'I sit here waiting for you all night, putting up with your mother for six hours,' she yells through the rolled- down window, 'and you come home drunk with some floozy!'
'But Stacey isn't a floozy, she's-'
Accelerating to about thirty miles per hours in reverse, Julie backs out of the garage, down the driveway (narrowly missing Stacey's car) and into the street. I'm left standing there in the light of the garage. The tires of her car chirp upon the asphalt.
She's gone.
On Saturday morning, I wake up and groan a couple of times. The first groan is from the hangover. The second groan is from the memory of what happened.
When I'm able, I get dressed and venture into the kitchen in quest of coffee. My mother is there.
'You know your wife was here last night,' says my mother as I pour my first cup.
So then I find out what happened. Julie showed up just after I called here last night. She had driven over on impulse, because she had missed me and she had wanted to see the kids. She ap- parently wanted to surprise me, which she did.
Later, I call the Barnett's number. Ada gives me the routine of 'She doesn't want to talk to you anymore.'
When I get to the plant on Monday, Fran tells me Stacey has been looking for me since she arrived this morning. I have just settled in behind my desk when Stacey appears at the door.
'Hi. Can we talk?' she asks.
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'Sure. Come on in,' I say.
She seems disturbed about something. She's avoiding my eyes as she sits down.
I say, 'Listen, about Friday night, I'm sorry about what hap- pened when you dropped me off.'
Stacey says, 'It's okay. Did your wife come back?'
'Uh, well, no, she didn't. She's staying with her parents for a little while,' I say.
'Was it just because of me?' she asks.
'No, we've been having some problems lately.'
'Al, I still feel kind of responsible,' she says. 'Look, why don't I talk to her.'
'No, you don't have to do that,' I say.
'Really, I think I ought to talk to her,' says Stacey. 'What's her number?'
I finally admit to myself it might be worth a try. So I give the Barnett's number to Stacey. She writes it down, and promises to call sometime today. Then she continues to sit there.
'Was there something else?' I ask.
'I'm afraid there is,' she says.
She pauses.
'So what is it?'
'I don't think you're going to like this,' she says. 'But I'm pretty sure about it...'
'Stacey,' I say.
'The bottlenecks have spread.'
'What do you mean 'the bottlenecks have spread'?' I ask. 'Is there a disease out there or something?'
'No, what I mean is we have a new bottleneck-or maybe even more than one; I'm not sure yet. Here, let me show you,' she says as she comes around the side of the desk with some computer print-outs she's brought. 'These are listings of parts that are queued up at final assembly.'
She goes over the lists with me. As always, the bottleneck parts are still in short supply. But lately there have
