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CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14 - раздел История, Эрик Сигл. История любви   It Was July When The Letter Came. It Had Been Forwar...

 

It was July when the letter came.

It had been forwarded from Cambridge to Dennis Port, so I guess I got

the news a day or so late. I charged over to where Jenny was supervising her

children in a game of kickball (or something), and said in my best Bogart

tones:

"Let's go."

"Huh?"

"Let's go," I repeated, and with such obvious authority that she began

to follow me as I walked toward the water.

"What's going on, Oliver? Wouldja tell me, please, for God sake?"

I continued to stride powerfully onto the dock.

"Onto the boat, Jennifer," I ordered, pointing to it with the very hand

that held the letter, which she didn't even notice.

"Oliver, I have children to take care of," she protested, even while

stepping obediently on board.

 

"Goddammit, Oliver, will you explain what's going on?" We were now a

few hundred yards from shore. "I have something to tell you," I said.

"Couldn't you have told it on dry land?" she yelled. "No, goddammit," I

yelled back (we were neither of us angry, but there was lots of wind, and we

had to shout to be heard).

"I wanted to be alone with you. Look what I have." I waved the envelope

at her. She immediately recognized the letterhead.

"Hey-Harvard Law School! Have you been kicked out?"

"Guess again, you optimistic bitch," I yelled. "You were first in the

class!" she guessed. I was now almost ashamed to tell her. "Not quite.

Third."

"Oh," she said. "Only third?"

"Listen-that still means I make the goddamn Law Review," I shouted.

She just sat there with an absolute no-expression expression.

"Christ, Jenny," I kind of whined, "say something!"

"Not until I meet numbers one and two," she said.

I looked at her, hoping she would break into the smile I knew she was

suppressing.

"C'mon, Jenny!" I pleaded.

"I'm leaving. Good-bye," she said, and jumped immediately into the

water. I dove right in after her and the next thing I knew we were both

hanging on to the side of the boat and giggling.

"Hey," I said in one of my wittier observations, "you went overboard

for me."

"Don't be too cocky," she replied. "Third is still only third."

"Hey, listen, you bitch," I said.

"What, you bastard?" she replied.

"I owe you a helluva lot," I said sincerely.

"Not true, you bastard, not true," she answered.

"Not true?" I inquired, somewhat surprised.

"You owe me everything," she said.

That night we blew twenty-three bucks on a lobster dinner at a fancy

place in Yarmouth. Jenny was still reserving judgment until she could check

out the two gentlemen who had, as she put it, "defeated me."

 

Stupid as it sounds, I was so in love with her that the moment we got

back to Cambridge, I rushed to find out who the first two guys were. I was

relieved to discover that the top man, Erwin Blasband, City College '64, was

bookish, bespectacled, nonathletic and not her type, and the number-two man

was Bella Landau, Bryn Mawr '64, a girl. This was all to the good,

especially since Bella Landau was rather cool looking (as lady law students

go), and I could twit Jenny a bit with "details" of what went on in those

late-night hours at Gannett House, the Law Review building. And Jesus, there

were late nights. It was not unusual for me to come home at two or three in

the morning. I mean, six courses, plus editing the Law Review, plus the fact

that I actually authored an article in one of the issues ("Legal Assistance

for the Urban Poor: A Study of Boston's Roxbury District" by Oliver Barrett

IV, HLR, March, 1966, pp. 861-9o8).

"A good piece. A really good piece."

That's all Joel Fleishman, the senior editor, could repeat again and

again. Frankly, I had expected a more articulate compliment from the guy who

would next year clerk for Justice Douglas, but that's all he kept saying as

he checked over my final draft. Christ, Jenny had told me it was "incisive,

intelligent and really well written." Couldn't Fleishman match that?

"Fleishman called it a good piece, Jen."

"Jesus, did I wait up so late just to hear that?" she said. "Didn't he

comment on your research, or your style, or anything?"

"No, Jen. He just called it 'good.'"

"Then what took you all this long?"

I gave her a little wink.

"I had some stuff to go over with Bella Landau," I said.

"Oh?" she said.

I couldn't read the tone.

"Are you jealous?" I asked straight out.

"No; I've got much better legs," she said.

"Can you write a brief?"

"Can she make lasagna?"

"Yes,~~ I answered. "Matter of fact, she brought some over to Gannett

House tonight. Everybody said they were as good as your legs."

Jenny nodded, "I'll bet."

"What do you say to that?" I said.

"Does Bella Landau pay your rent?" she asked. "Damn," I replied, "why

can't I ever quit when I'm ahead?"

"Because, Preppie," said my loving wife, "you never are."

 

 

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Chapter 1
    What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles

CHAPTER 2
    Oliver Barrett IV Ipswich, Mass. Age 20 Major: Social Studies Dean's List: '6

CHAPTER 3
    I got hurt in the Cornell game. It was my own fault, really. At a heated juncture, I made the unfortunate error of referring to their center as a &

CHAPTER 4
    "Jenny's on the downstairs phone." This information was announced to me by the girl on bells, although I had not identified myself or my

CHAPTER 5
    I would like to say a word about our physical relationship. For a strangely long while there wasn't any. I mean, there wasn't anything more signifi

CHAPTER 6
    I love Ray Stratton. He may not be a genius or a great football player (kind of slow at the snap), but he was always a good roommate and loyal frie

CHAPTER 7
    Ipswich, Mass., is some forty minutes from the Mystic River Bridge, depending on the weather and how you drive. I have actually made it on occasion

CHAPTER 8
  "Jenny, it's not Secretary of State, after all!" We were finally driving back to Cambridge, thank God. "Still, Oliver, you could have been more enth

CHAPTER 9
  There remained the matter of Cranston, Rhode Island, a city slightly more to the south of Boston than Ipswich is to the north. After the debacle of introducing Jen

CHAPTER 10
  Mr. William F. Thompson, Associate Dean of the Harvard Law School, could not believe his ears. "Did I hear you right, Mr. Barrett?" "Yes

CHAPTER 11
  Jennifer was awarded her degree on Wednesday. All sorts of relatives from Cranston, Fall River-and even an aunt from Cleveland-flocked to Cambridge to attend the c

CHAPTER 12
    If a single word can describe our daily life during those first three years, it is "scrounge." Every waking moment we were concentrating on how

CHAPTER 13
  Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Barrett III request the pleasure of your company at a dinner in celebration of Mr. Barrett's sixtieth birthday Saturday,

CHAPTER 15
    We finished in that order. I mean, Erwin, Bella and myself were the top three in the Law School graduating class. The time for triumph was at hand.

CHAPTER 16
    CHANGE OF ADDRESS From July 1,1967 Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Barrett IV 263 E

CHAPTER 17
    It is not all that easy to make a baby. I mean, there is a certain irony involved when guys who spend the first years of their sex lives preoccupie

CHAPTER 18
    I began to think about God. I mean, the notion of a Supreme Being existing somewhere began to creep into my private thoughts. Not because I wanted

CHAPTER 19
    Now at least I wasn't afraid to go home, I wasn't seared about "acting normal." We were once again sharing everything, even if it was the awful

CHAPTER 20
    It is impossible to drive from East Sixty-third Street, Manhattan, to Boston, Massachusetts, in less than three hours and twenty minutes. Believe m

CHAPTER 21
    The task of informing Phil Cavilleri fell to me. Who else? He did not go to pieces as I feared he might, but calmly closed the house in Cranston an

CHAPTER 22
    Phil Cavilleri was in the solarium, smoking his nth cigarette, when I appeared. "Phil?" I said softly. "Yeah?"

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