Chapter 7: Legal

By the morning, her period had begun with a vengeance. She changed her Tampax, dressed, and ate. Bill’s habit of keeping the alarm set at the same time every morning left them with a long time before church. She went over the Economic-History paper one more time. Then Bill wanted to discuss their meetings over the next week. “No” didn’t call for a very long discussion. They went over what of the budget they could. After he drove her to church, they went their separate ways. Ironically, the choir members expected her to be a newly-engaged woman breathlessly expecting her wedding. She played that role.

During the sermon, Sharon, the best alto, nudged her and pointed. The back of the sanctuary had a tall wooden wall separating off a narrow space. She could see something come into view over the top of that wall, go down, and then come into view a little further along. She realized that it was a baby. Somebody -- almost certainly Bill -- was pacing invisibly and lifting the baby above his head regularly. The choir loft was high; the rest of the congregation was facing the front instead of the back. If Pastor Jake could see, he didn’t let it interrupt the delivery of his sermon. But the choir’s attention was definitely on the bobbing baby.

“Well,” Sharon said as they prepared to support the congregation on the next hymn, “you’re marrying him. I’m not.” Lucky Sharon. On the other hand, Sharon’s Luke seemed to be bland as butter, and he was seriously obese. Carolyn had a hard time picturing them even having sex, much less having he explosive sex that she and Bill shared. Didn’t Sharon fear being smothered?

“The choir saw a baby bobbing up and down over that wall in back,” she said when she was in the car with Bill. “What’s its name?”

“Beatrice. She’s as bad as you are. Sheesh! One’s teething and one’s bleeding, and neither one wants to be held.” She didn’t appreciate being compared to a teething baby, but she let that go.

“No! The wall.”

“It has a Latinate ecclesiastical name -- one I’ve heard and forgotten.”

“And Beatrice has a last name?” she asked.

“Bell.”

“So, Ray and Lily gave you what you wanted?”

“Sort of. The Ferris wheel game tired me, though,” he said. She couldn’t figure out what he meant.

“Ferris wheel?”

“You get a good grip on the kid -- usually under the arm pits. You raise it up high close to you and let it down further away. At the best of times, the path is a fairly narrow oval. You do three or four cycles, and then you hold it mostly sitting on one arm for a while. Except Beatrice didn’t want to sit on one arm; Beatrice wanted to go up again. It very soon looked less like a Ferris wheel than like an elevator. Even so, it was exhausting.” Well, Beatrice could get what she wanted from Bill, whether it suited his convenience or not. Could Caroline?

After lunch, she went back to school and buckled down to outlining the paper for Regional Economics. That told her where she needed specific figures, and she spent several hours at the library digging them up. Monday went about the same way except for class, and so did Tuesday morning.

After lunch on Tuesday, she was feeling more forgiving towards Bill and was getting tired of library research. She pulled books out of one of her bookcases and piled them on the floor. She took the bookcase with her on the bus to Bill’s apartment. After putting it where it would live until they moved, she went grocery shopping. She made him a meatloaf, put it in the cold oven, and wrote out directions for cooking it. She looked in the ‘fridge for a snack. After she’d taken one apple, she wrote “EAT THE APPLE” on the cooking directions note. She dug through his stuff in the living room until she could find one of his cards. She called the number.

“Andalusia Pharmaceuticals.”

“Bill Pierce, please.” This was followed by clicks and a buzz.

“Andalusia Pharmaceuticals. Mr. Pierce’s office.”

“May I speak to Mr. Pierce, please.”

“Who may I say is calling?” It should have been “whom,” but she wasn’t paid to instruct people in economics, yet, much less in English.

“Carolyn Nolan.”

“Yes, Miss Nolan.” That was Bill’s voice.

“Come straight home, tonight. I’ll leave you some food. And eat that apple!”

“I was scared to,” he said. “Wouldn’t it prevent you from getting your doctorate?” Silliness. What happened to the eavesdropper for whom she was “Miss Nolan”?

“Nope. Goodbye.” She hung up. Well, a good day of physical effort. Time to get back to the books. And she did. After dinner, she prepared the work for the next day. It wouldn’t do to let class work slide to finish the papers. She was called to the phone.

“Carolyn Nolan speaking.”

“Carolyn! How good to hear your voice. Have I ever complimented you on your telephone technique?” Then he broke in while she was answering. “The meat loaf was delicious. And I ate the apple.”

“Did you have any more of the lettuce?”

“Um.” He sounded guilty.

“I’m glad you eat out so much. Restaurants will, at least, serve you veggies and salad.”

“Anyway, I saw the bookcase. Plastic?”

“If you load it evenly, it works fine.”

“And you brought it all the way here?”

“Pick it up,” she told him. “It’s not that heavy.”

“Well, the books will be. I’ll move them.” He was being as bossy as ever, but he was right. One shopping bag load of books on the bus would be a struggle.

Thursday, shortly after dinner, she was called to the phone again.

“Carolyn Nolan speaking.”

“Bill Pierce here. Why don’t you pack some books to move? I’ll pick you up, drive you to choir practice, get upstairs any books you bring along, and drive you back.” That would take little extra of her time. Packing the books was no worse than walking to practice. She did it his way. He was waiting downstairs and took her grocery-bag of books from her. He carried it to the car and put it in the trunk. She opened her own door to get in -- you could hardly fault him on that when he was handling a heavy load.

“Look,” he began when he’d started the car.

“No! You look. I’m grateful for the help, but I’m not up for an argument before I’m obliged to have a relaxed tone.” Which was not quite bullshit. It was the sort of thing that a non-singer wouldn’t know enough to challenge. Miss Armbruster would lead them in a minute’s breathing and pure tone production before they started singing.

“Very well, but do I have you for Saturday?”

“After lunch on Saturday.” That was in the future, and ‘after lunch’ was a marvelously ambiguous time period. He left her off at the church and picked her up at the church to drive her back to the residence hall.

“I’ll bring down another load of books, if you want,” she said.

“Fine, I just stacked those up.”

“Quite the best way. I’ll have to arrange them.” But when she started to load books, her roommates wanted an excuse to meet Bill. They went down together, each with a shopping bag full. When he’d got the trunk open and arranged the bags in it. they all went back to the entrance area to get acquainted. Bill was on his best behavior, and the girls were impressed. Even so, she got back upstairs not much later than she would have if she’d walked. The room looked emptier with the books and bookcase gone. She’d been neglecting the class work for the papers, so she studied for Friday that night and for Saturday the next afternoon.

When she got out of Brooke Hall, Bill was waiting in the car.

“I’m going back to the residence hall for lunch,” she told him.

“Fine. I’ll drive you. What time should I pick you up?”

“The appointment is at three.”

“Don’t you think we should talk first?” he replied. Well, they should have talked before dragging Jake into this.

“One thirty?”

“One thirty it is.” When he got there, Mary, Heather, and Diane wanted to bring down another load of books. She packed for them and got there last. They’d worn their coats and were all standing around the car talking. She handed her bag of books to Bill, who put them in the trunk. Then they said goodbye to the girls and drove away.

“You’ve made three conquests,” she told him.

“They merely want to meet your fiancé. They wouldn’t have given me a glance it you hadn’t been wearing that ring.” Maybe -- maybe not. They seemed to like his style, what they’d seen of it. She would have liked as much as they’d seen of it, too, if she hadn’t seen more. “So, what do we tell Jake?”

“That we aren’t planning for the ideal married couple,” she said. “We’re planning for what’s best for Bill and Carolyn.” She’d thought that much through. “If you were planning on a great start for a marriage, you wouldn’t start with Bill and Carolyn. But, when you start with Bill and Carolyn, marriage looks like the best option.”

He laughed. “Doesn’t sound like you’re exactly starry-eyed.”

“Look, don’t get me started.”

“You never finished your list of my faults.”

“Every time I start to set them down in order,” she told him, “I discover a new one for the top of the list. Well, anyway, the next time we fight we’ll qualify for marriage counseling.” This marriage was looking like a worse idea all the time. What could she do? You could break an engagement over something he’d done; you couldn’t break one over its having been a bad idea all the time.

“Is that a promise?” He waited. “Well, children? Sometime, but when you’re more settled in a career.”

“One child when I’m settled in a career,” she corrected him. “Whether we’ll have more depends both on our experience with that child and on the career.” And, of course, on how much of the parenting was left to her. That, however, was less – for once – of a worry about Bill than it would have been with another man.

“Okay. And we’ll live on a balanced budget as soon as you have any real teaching job.”

“You’re not counting teaching assistant as real?”

“Not as far as salary is concerned.” he said. “I’m sure the work is real, but, after all, it’s not like you were lazing around now.” He had a point.

They got there a few minutes early, and Jake was there already. He led them back to his office.

“Well,” he asked, “have you thought about things?”

“Thought about plenty,” she answered. “Got decisions on fewer. Y’know, you tell us that sex is a bad foundation for a marriage. Well, we aren’t looking for the ideal couple to form a married pair. We’re looking at ‘What should we do with Bill and Carolyn?’ Take my own case, for instance. If marriage to Bill based mostly on sex is risky, how risky would it be to marry John Doe when I’m much more strongly attracted to Bill, sexually?”

“Well,” Jake said, “millions of married women think Clark Gable is the sexiest man in the country.” Clark Gable? What century was Jake living in? Still, the point was valid.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And they have absolutely no access to Clark Gable, and they see him up on the silver screen and get their sexual charge. Then they go home and work it off with their lawful husband. It’s a little different when you’re talking about a man who you see every day.”

“And,” Bill put in, “on the issue of planning for Bill and Carolyn, that covers chores as well. I’m sure that Dan has some things he does, and Gladys has some things she does. What our planning for chores is that Carolyn will do them in her slack periods, and I’ll do them in her crush periods. That will take re-planning when she gets her degree, but it doesn’t make sense to plan for that time in the abstract. When I can’t handle the chores -- I’m thinking of cooking dinner -- then I’m in charge of getting take-out.”

“Well, I’m more interested in whether you’ve thought things through than what your answers are. And it sounds like you’ve thought things through. Budget?”

“That’s not complete,” Bill answered. “I know that everybody says that they’ll have more in the sweet by and by. But we will owe tuition next year, next academic year, and we’ll have a second salary a year or two after that. We’re agreed on hanging tough until she gets a teaching job.”

“And children?”

“That’s also dependent on her schedule.” Bill was still giving the answers. “One child when she’s settled enough to get maternity leave.” Now, Jake looked at her.

“Yeah,” she said. “We figure that any plans for a second child need to be made after we learn what living with a child is like. Also, of course, there is a question as to how much maternity leave the unknown employer will be happy about giving me at an unknown time.”

He had other questions, but nothing earth shattering.

“And we have one,” Bill said. “We know you won’t perform the service without a license, and that is in process. We both have a nightmare of getting to the church in front of all those guests and then you stop the service because something is missing.” Jake laughed.

“The nightmare is understandable, but not based on reality. I’d perform the service for you dressed as you are now.”

“Not if my mother has a thing to say about it,” she put in. “She wants the whole nine yards.”

“Fine. I was going to say I wouldn’t perform the service with either of you naked or something like that. Really, I’ve known ministers who performed a wedding service in a hospital where one of the party was scheduled for desperate surgery. If you want an elaborate service, we’ll want payment for the church, for myself, and for Miss Armbruster. You need her permission for another organist.”

“That’s no problem,” she said. “My mother isn’t going to import an organist I don’t know.” Not if Mama wanted her cooperation, she wasn’t.

“And,” Bill said, “although her parents are planning to pay for the wedding, I’m good for any deficiency. I don’t think here will be one, but mistakes happen.”

“And,” Jake said, “I don’t stop the service to ask for my check. Do you want to have the reception in the fellowship area?”

“I’ll ask Mama, but I’d bet against it. You don’t allow Champagne in the church.”

“Nor betting.” But Jake was making a joke. “Do you want to invite the entire congregation?”

“Sure,” she said. “Probably some will get written invitations, and some won’t. But this is our church home, whatever Mama thinks, and we’re not planning to shut anyone out of their home. Closer to the time, we’ll say so -- or you can -- in church.”

“Want to finish stacking the bookcase now?” Bill asked when driving away from the church. When she didn’t answer, he asked another question. “Look, tomorrow is coffee hour. Sure, Jake can issue the invitation in service closer to the time. Do you want me to ... would you object if I issued a general invitation then?”

“Go ahead.” She thought some more. “What would going back to the apartment mean?”

“You’d get to set the rules, but I can look at you.”

“Okay. Let’s go by the residence hall. I don’t have the right books.” He drove there, waited while she went up for her books and -- then -- while she smoked a cigarette.

“Maybe,” he said after she got in the car, “you’ll call your mother during a break in the library work. We need to know precisely what she expects from us. I don’t want off the top of her head on the phone, but can she write us. I have visions of her showing up Saturday morning asking, ‘Who is the photographer?’ Y’know, I said I would follow your decisions as to the wedding, but I do need a portrait-style photo of you for my desk.”

“Yeah. You talk about accommodating me all the time, but I think you’ll be expecting me to accommodate you.”

“Maybe so. After all, I’m not talking about accommodating you so much as accommodating your profession. And there are accommodations you’ll have to make to my profession. You’ll have to entertain, sometimes, and when entertaining, you’ll have to play a role. Everybody does. Don’t tell me academics don’t.” She wouldn’t tell him that academics don’t. Some of the papers she was writing right now were playing a game. Professors, of course, don’t play that game. But she was close enough to see some of the games they did play. How many papers were based on ‘this is information that the profession has to know,’ as opposed to ‘this is publishable, and I need another publication desperately,’?

“So, I’m to be the contented hausfrau?”

“No. I won’t expect you to lie. But you’ll serve something closer to the lamb chops than to the sloppy joes. And, while you won’t tell them that Richard Nixon was the best president since Herbert Hoover, you won’t argue when they say that, either.” Well, nice to be warned. Still, what could she do? She was happy to show off her best cooking skills, and the lamb chops hadn’t been much of an accomplishment. They’d been tough -- wrong season for lamb. Keeping her mouth closed when she heard idiocy wasn’t her style -- and Richard Nixon was just barely the best president since Lyndon Johnson -- but keeping your mouth closed was an academic game, too.

So, they called Mama. She promised to send a list, copies to both addresses. So far, Mama wanted Bill to wear a tux and Carolyn white. Just whom a white dress would fool, Carolyn couldn’t tell -- certainly not Mama. She got books out of bags and onto the bookcase. Bill had cleared the top shelf of his bookcase, and that was helpful.

“Study time, now,” she told Bill.

“All right, but let me brush your hair before you come to bed.” The man was seriously weird. On the other hand, brushing her hair wasn’t one of his bad points. When she finished her late-night cigarette and went into the bedroom, he was asleep under only the sheet on her side. The new electric heater was on, and the room was warm. It was late, and she was sleepy, too. But a promise was a promise, and something had to be done to her hair. When he woke, he seemed happy enough to do the brushing. She relaxed under the hypnotic rhythm of the brush strokes. She got the blanket spread over the bed and he turned off the heater before they got in. Lying in his arms, she was warm, almost too warm, and very content.

In the coffee hour after church, Bill got up and went where practically everybody could see him.

“Most of you know that Carolyn and I are getting married. The date is February 17th, in the afternoon. Everyone within sound of my voice is invited.” There was a murmur of congratulations, although only the date could be news. She got up.

“I’d like to notify parents of small children that, although they are certainly included in the invitation, the Bill Pierce baby-sitting service will not be available. He’ll be otherwise occupied.” There was a good deal of laughter, but it was interrupted.

“Mommy,” called someone’s falsetto imitation of a child, “what is that strange woman doing up there with my Bill?” The laughter grew louder, and Bill joined in.

She’d left her current textbooks in the car, and Bill drove her straight to the residence hall. Her time as a fiancée was over; now she was an economics student.

“And when,” Bill asked, “will I see you again?” Good question. She thought out what she needed to do, what she could reasonably expect to do before her brain shut down.

“How about nine o’clock tomorrow. Call before, okay?” Being a social cynosure and an economics student had their times, and their pleasures. But being a lover had its times, too. And it definitely had its pleasures. “And finish up the salad.” It was beginning to go bad. They shared a long kiss before she walked away.

Although she seemed horrified that the matron of honor and the three bridesmaids were not dressed uniformly, Mama got the wedding she wanted for her only daughter more than Carolyn got the wedding she’d always dreamed of. Carolyn appreciated it, though. Bill was on his best behavior, and none of the catastrophes they’d been dreading occurred, Gladys and Dan drove them home from the reception, and left them at the door of Bill’s – now their apartment house.

Walking across the slushy sidewalk, Carolyn Nolan Pierce had a new appreciation for the custom of June weddings. As a February bride, her calves were freezing, and her ankles were worse. Cold water was trickling down into her shoes from her ankles. Soon, though, she was upstairs in the apartment. As soon as Bill had hung up their coats and given her a kiss, he disappeared into the bedroom. She eased her shoes off.

“Ruined,” she told Bill. “And only worn once.”

“Would you have worn them again?” He was being practical again.

“Satin heels? I doubt it. Still, you want the costume to show your daughter.” Did she? Would she have a daughter, any child? They had agreed on one child when her employment was permanent. She realized, as Bill probably did not, all the bridges an academic economist had to cross before she got to permanent employment.

“Well, if you come in where it is warmer, I’ll be very careful of the rest while I’m taking it off.” Well, as many problems as they had taken on in this marriage, Bill had his eye on the part that they did right. She matched his evil chuckle.

And he’d turned on the space heater in the bedroom. The apartment wasn’t really warm enough for nudism. Bill, who wanted her naked, was eager to keep her comfortable while he stripped her. The room wasn’t warm yet, but she’d be comfortable standing in front of the heater. After another kiss, he carefully removed the dress. The closet was already crowded, even though she still had clothes in her room at the residence hall. Finally, Bill hung the dress on the outside of the closet door.

“I wonder if Gladys would have space for it,” she mused, “until we get a larger apartment.” But this was her wedding night, not a great time for practical plans. “Here.” If he was going to strip her, she was going to strip him. She took his fancy jacket.

“Toss that anywhere,” Bill said. “It’s rented, and I’m not saving it to show my daughter.” She put it on top of his dresser. Then he removed her slip and hung it up.