John Moncure Wetterau

“ He got out at the shopping center and walked to Waikiki.
It had been cloudy most of the day. The wind had begun to blow hard. Gusts caught the hair of young women and whipped ebony parabolas three feet over their heads. The women turned their heads like wild mustangs, laughing—counterpoint to their Asian composure and perfect make-up. This is it, Oliver thought. I could die right here. I'll never see anything more beautiful.
He ate dinner in a Thai restaurant. His waitress was another knockout. ”

“ She tapped the fingers of one hand on the table. "Are you sure, Oliver?
Money is no problem." He nodded slowly.
"Oh, Oliver . . ." She brushed away a tear. He had never seen her cry. "Oh." She shook her head. "Who trains who?" she asked the window in a tight voice. Oliver swallowed. He couldn't speak. This was happening too fast.
"Sex," she said, looking back at him. "There's sex and there's love—two different things. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes, if you're real lucky, they overlap a lot. Most people settle for a little of one or a little of the other." ”

“ Others would notice if they tried to ignore each other; they were forced to be friendly in a phony way, as though they didn't feel the force drawing them together. Suzanne began to look strained. Oliver kept his head down and worked hard.
The day of the party was gray and drizzly, warm for late fall. Oliver stood in the open door of the barn, holding a paper cup of ale and welcoming guests. By mid-afternoon, cars were parked around the first bend of the driveway. Thirty or forty people were milling about in the house giving Jennifer advice and admiring Emma. Jennifer was flushed and pleased. ”

“ Jennifer was thrilled and tired. Oliver felt a new kind of pang when he saw Emma. She had dark hair and seemed to be clutching part of his heart with her tiny hands, as though she had moved from one support system to another.
Deweys was barely open when he got there. "One for me and one more for my baby," he said to Sam. "Jenn had a little girl."
"No shit! Congratulations. Hey, the Guinness is on the house, man; you're going to need your strength."
Oliver drank and relaxed. The winter had passed in a blur. Each day had been filled with work and things to do at home ”

“ Jennifer wanted him to look at her and not at an imagined box. She was a solid blonde, Nordic, with broad cheeks and a big smile. "I worry about Rupert when he does things around the house. Something usually goes wrong."
"Ah . . ." Oliver said. "A minor flaw."
"Rupert is wonderful," she said. "Now, the mailing list. Hi, Jacky." Oliver turned and was astonished to see Francesca's friend in the doorway. "Jacky is one of our volunteers. She does a lot of the mailing list work. I thought you could work together on this. Jacky, this is Oliver Prescott." ”

“ Oliver shrugged, pulled a watch cap over his ears, and walked toward the Old Port.
A car pulled over. "Olive Oil!" George Goodbean shouted. "Want a ride?"
"Taking my life in my hands," Oliver said, getting in.
"It's a good day to die," George said.
"Aren't we romantic."
"Artists live on the edge, Olive Oil. Where the view is." A pickup passed at high speed, hitting a pothole and splattering mud across the windshield. "Moron!" George reached for the wiper switch. ”

“ Jennifer made herself comfortable and surveyed the crowd.
"I like it here," she said. "I don't know why I don't come here more often."
"Good place," Oliver said. Jennifer ordered a fruit bowl with granola and yogurt. He asked for bacon and eggs, homefries with green peppers and onions, and Texas toast. "Cruise all day on this," he said when the waitress delivered. He took a bite of bacon. They couldn't put off the conversation forever. "So—my baby, huh?"
Jennifer smiled. "Your baby. You're the man."
"I'll be damned." He found himself grinning.
"You don't look unhappy—to be a daddy." ”

“ Two days later, there was only a low wall protecting a woven matting of driftwood sticks. Oliver imagined an art student practicing, seeing what things looked like as he or she made them.
On Sunday, Oliver had breakfast at six. The park was empty when he arrived. The leaves were damp and thick on the ground except for a few coppery oak leaves, always the last to fall. Tough stuff, oak, Oliver thought. He stopped to look for the latest sculpture. At first, he saw only random driftwood. It was as though a storm at high tide had leveled all traces of beach-goers. ”

“ Myron appraised him again. "It is and it isn't," he said. "Rewards are what you get for taking risk. If you want a big reward right away, you have to take a big risk. Over a longer period, you can take smaller risks—the smaller rewards add up; the smaller losses don't wipe you out. But there's another consideration." He drew a double headed arrow on the top of a yellow pad. "People have different senses of time."
Myron darkened each arrowhead. "Some live for the future; some live in the moment; some—most—are in the middle. It's a natural thing. ”

“ I said to him: 'Look, Rupert, what is the matter? We're going to have a baby. What is wrong with you?' I guess I should have been more diplomatic. You know—said something like: 'Rupert, I need your affection; I'm feeling all alone here.' But I didn't feel diplomatic. I was mad as hell, actually."
Owl's words echoed: "Anger is the outer face of fear."
"Scared," Oliver said.
Jennifer looked at him. "Maybe so," she said. "I thought we had a family. I thought we were all set to go."
"Well, sure," Oliver said. ”

“ As they talked and drank, Oliver settled in his chair, his eyes on the opening in her blouse and the lacy rising edge of her bra. A familiar undertow pulled him down; he wanted to be lower than she was. She watched, opened her blouse farther, and let it happen. They finished dinner and drank the rest of the wine. "I'd forgotten . . ." he started.
"Oliver," she said, "I have something for you. Why don't you come up for a drink?" He nodded, yes. She stood, signed the check, and led him to the elevator. "There's wine in the convenience bar," she said, shutting the door of her room behind them. ”

“ As far as risk/reward goes, we can keep a given balance in any time-horizon. We can be risk-adverse, say, short-term or long-term." Myron underlined the arrow.
"What we don't want to do is mix up the two. Short—term and long-term investments are different. Not only are the investments themselves different, but someone who is patient and looks far ahead won't be happy with in-and-out activity. Someone who is action-oriented, who is used to seeing results right away, won't wait years for a company to develop or for interest rates to drop. You see what I'm getting at?"
"I do," Oliver said. ”

“ Oliver cut off a piece of cheddar. "Anyway, they took the books back to headquarters, and today they ordered us to switch to a different software package, one that will be standard at all their hospitals. Centralized control. No more local programming. Bye, bye, Oliver." He waved his glass.
"Bye, bye," Emma said. Jennifer hugged her.
"I'm about done now, really. A couple of reports, one more operating system revision . . . I'm a little sad about it. It's surprising how you get to like people. I mean, the Fundamentalists are nutso with all their rules, but they do a lot of good. ”

“ Scotch trickled down Oliver's throat. Wilt kept a steady pace down the beach. Oliver thought of getting a ticket to another world—the Philippines, say—and disappearing. He could go to a village on a remote island and live until he ran out of money. It would be perfect for a while, and then, to hell with it, he would get kidnapped or lost in the jungle; it wouldn't matter.
No use. A force inside him would not let go. His spirit assumed a stone face. Forward.
He awoke the next morning at 4 a.m., out of synch from jet lag. ”

“ Mark said.
"How?"
"You could be a zombie executive in suburbia."
"North Yarmouth is close," Oliver said. "Speaking of which—are you coming to the housewarming?"
"Saturday, right?"
"Yeah—middle of the day, anytime. Bring a friend."
"Friend? You think you got problems? Later, man." Mark rushed off.
Suffer? Was it the male condition? I guess women suffer, too, Oliver thought. The human condition, then? He resisted this. Why should we suffer? The "we" he had in mind, he realized, was mostly Suzanne. Jacky was in there somewhere, and Francesca, higher and in the distance. Jennifer wasn't there. ”

“ Oliver said.
"It's cozy," Suzanne said.
"It's hard not talking to you at work," he said.
"I hate it," she said. She put down her mug. "We don't need to think about that now."
"No," he said, closing his eyes. She placed her hand on his chest and rubbed slow circles. Oliver sighed and surrendered to the palm of her hand and her fingertips.
"Much better," she said. Her hand moved slowly across his chest and then down over his stomach. Her fingers reached under the top of his pants and paused. He sighed again and rolled a little closer. ”

“ Oliver stepped outside. Greenery had been wound around the lamp posts. Holiday lights were strung overhead. The sidewalks were filled with shoppers crowded between store windows and low snowbanks piled along the curb. Someone had brushed the snow from the bronze lobsterman kneeling on his pedestal outside the bank buildings.
Oliver liked The Swiss Time Shop, run by a Swiss watchmaker. He bought a ship's clock set in a handsome maple case, a present for the house.
"He says 'Ja!' and everything," Oliver told George in Deweys. "Great guy. He actually knows how to do something." ”

“ They sat and finished their coffee, watching the rain and absorbing their conversation.
"Bye, Oliver," Francesca said finally, standing with the umbrella.
"You're going to get wet."
"I won't melt." She smiled quickly, understanding it as he meant, that he would be there for her dependably. She walked back the way she had come. Oliver stayed, enjoying the calm. Francesca had that effect on him. When he was with her, he felt that there was nowhere he needed to go. He was already there, at the center. The world spread around them at greater and greater distances.
Jacky! ”

“ Teamwork. You know—in the last analysis—business is all about people." He stopped to gauge Oliver's enthusiasm. Underneath all the nautical bullshit, Oliver sensed a fairly sharp guy, hard-working anyway.
"I can do the work," he said. "But it would take me six months to get up to speed."
"We've got four," Tom said.
"What are weekends for?" Oliver asked. That got him the job. That and the Jennifer connection and some boat talk.
He walked to Deweys and was greeted loudly by George. "Olive Oil, my God!" George waved at Oliver's blazer, slacks, and shiny shoes. "What have you done?" ”

“ More people came in, stamping snow from their boots. Patti Page gave way to Tom Waits belting out, Jersey Girl. "Another classic," Oliver said. Tragedy was just offstage in Jersey Girl, momentarily held at bay by sex and love and hope. "All downhill from here, Mark."
"Life is fine, my man."
"What? Must be a new dancer in town. How do you do it, anyway?"
"Innate sensuality," Mark said. "One glance across a crowded room . . ."
"Yeah, right. My rooms are crowded with women in black pants who have eyes only for each other. Although, I did see a beauty in Becky's this morning. ”

“ We're here! We're alive!" He smiled as he imagined a full moon appearing from behind a cloud. Francesca was standing on Crescent Beach, looking up at the moon, her hands clasped behind her. Oliver stood and bowed slightly to the waiter and to the room.
The next morning he called Porter and told him when he'd be back. He took a bus from Eugene to Portland. The Willamette Valley was green and fertile, a nice after-image on the following afternoon as the plane lowered over the brown Maine woods and the steely blue Atlantic. He took a cab to State Street and had a reunion with Verdi. ”

“ Oliver said. Better than the first time. Love the kid. But, Jennifer's working less and spending more. She wants to have another baby and be a full time momma. She wants to add on to the house."
"You just got the house."
"I know. What she wants to do makes sense, but it's a lot of money. Most of her friends have boats. They all have boats. Wouldn't it be nice to go sailing with Emma?" Oliver lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "She's even got me lined me up for a good job at a bank." ”

“ If you're an overweight single parent with three children, no education, and no job, they'll find a place for you. They work hard, and they help each other. Dan is a really nice guy. And . . ." he stopped. "I just remembered—I have a present; it's in the Jeep. I was going to surprise you."
Oliver returned from outside carrying Suzanne's quilt. "I couldn't resist," he said. He unfolded it and held it up. "It was on display for a month at the hospital, one of the items for their benefit auction. It's handmade. I kept seeing Emma sleeping under it, so I made a bid and got it." ”

“ An embossed boot swung prominently in front of him, oddly flamboyant.
"Yeah, Verdi's my buddy," Oliver said. "He likes you, too."
"Birds can be your friends," Arlen said. "People don't realize." He looked out the window. "I had a parakeet once. His name was Tootsie."
"Tootsie," Oliver repeated, sipping whiskey.
"An ordinary parakeet, green and yellow—but Tootsie could sing! A wonderful singer." Arlen looked back at Oliver. "Parakeets are tough, you know. They are little parrots, actually, strong birds." ”

“ The promise came from a different place than his attachment to Jennifer and the baby.
He stayed a few minutes savoring the coffee and the cold damp air. Gulls circled and dove at the other end of the beach. The geese were long gone. When he left, he took with him all traces of Francesca's note.
Jennifer arrived home during the early game. "Hi, Sweetheart," she said. "The roads were fine. Mother is withholding judgment until she sees you, but Daddy is on board. Don't worry, she'll love you."
"The Patriots don't look too good," Oliver said. ”