O+F Part 38

"First Fundamentalist Hospital," Molly said, her gorgeous drawl following him around the corner.

At least he had another day to think things over. His marriage was going smoothly enough. Dull at times, sure. Weren't all marriages?

Jennifer and he didn't have that much in common, as it had turned out.

But they were good humored, and they shared a disposition to make the best of things. He had his responsibilities; she had hers; they avoided confrontation. He was genuinely fond of her. And they had Emma. Emma was a delight, a little like each of them, although she took after him in looks. He should have been on top of the world, compared to most people.

So--why was he reaching for Suzanne? There was something coiled inside him, a force that he wasn't sure he could control. Intuition told Oliver that if he ran from it or pretended it wasn't there, he would be in even bigger trouble.

He was at work before Suzanne arrived the next day. He watched her drive in and walk toward the front entrance. Even at that distance and under a parka, her body radiated a compact grace. Her hair was gathered and held by a red scarf that hung to the nape of her neck. She hadn't done anything drastic. He waited a few minutes and went to her office.

His heart was beating fast.

"I'm sorry," he began.

She shook her head. "It's my fault, Oliver. You're married and you have a child. I lost control. I'm--not a good woman."

"You're a wonderful woman."

"I've been praying," she said. "I don't pray like the rest of them, but G.o.d hears everyone."

Oliver pulled at one ear lobe, off balance.

"I'm asking Him to take this want out of me." Suzanne's voice trailed off. "I don't think I can do it by myself." Oliver's cheeks grew hot.

"I was going to cut my hair practically off, but I couldn't."

"I'm glad you didn't."

She looked at him, helpless again. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Oliver said. "I have the want, too."

Suzanne smiled for the first time. "If you've got it like I do, one of us is going to have to leave the state."

"Maybe there's some other way," he said. "Tell me how much you love disco."

"I hate disco," she said apologetically. "I like old time country music. And jazz. Coltrane."

"Oh swell," Oliver said. "Have you ever been to the Cafe No, in Portland?" Suzanne shook her head. "Terrific place to hear live jazz."

He stopped, frustrated.

"I'll leave if you want me to," she said. "I ought to be able to get a job somewhere else."

"Don't do that." He didn't know what else to say. "Don't do that."

"Maybe if we didn't talk," she said. "Only just about work."

"O.K.," Oliver said. "I'll try. I'd hug you but I think something would catch fire."

"Burning already," she said, trying to smile. Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His feet felt like they were in cement. He dragged them up, one after the other, and left.

He finished a small project but couldn't bring himself to start the next one. He drove into Portland without saying goodbye to Suzanne.

This wasn't going to be easy, he thought. He went to Gritty's for party kegs. They brewed ale downstairs and pumped it directly from the bar.

He didn't know how many people would come to the housewarming--some would rather drink wine or the hard stuff. Five gallons of ale should be enough. He bought six, to be on the safe side.

He had lunch in Deweys, hoping to calm down. But the more he thought about Suzanne, the more confused he got. Mark came in and Oliver asked him, "What do you do when you've got a strong attraction going that isn't--appropriate?"

"You're asking me?"

"Well," Oliver said, "just an opinion."

"What does she look like?"

"Nice looking. Nothing unusual. My size. Great body." Oliver thought.

"I guess what's unusual about her is how _connected_ she is. I mean, her body is in her face. She walks the way she feels. She's all one piece."

"_It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing. _" Mark said.

"Ellington."

"Hmmm," Oliver said.

"If it's inappropriate--whatever that means--and you go ahead with it, you suffer. If you don't go ahead with it, you suffer anyway. You're f.u.c.ked, man."

"Swell," Oliver said.

"Could be worse," 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?"

"Sat.u.r.day, 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. Jennifer and he did not suffer. She was his partner. He admired her energy, respected her, loved her, even--in a general way. Wasn't that what marriage was all about?

_It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing._

You're f.u.c.ked, man.

Do something.

He drove back to North Yarmouth. "I'm home!"

"Hi, Sweetums. What's the matter? Here." Jennifer thrust Emma into his arms. "Watch Emma for a while, will you? I'm glad you came home early; I've got some things to do at The Conservancy. Oh, good!" She did not wait for an answer. "Tell me later--bad day at work?"