Chapter 2: No cigar

“Two double burgers and a large coke.” He told the girl who came for their order. When that came, he noticed that Carolyn was still clutching the ruins of her umbrella. “Why don’t you throw that umbrella in the other seat? Now, is that the worst? Seems to me that you were mad at me long before Alice called you ‘pretty lady.’”

“No. The worst thing about you is your arrogant ignorance.” She was back on what he was, now.

“Which was shown?”

“By claiming to know everything about economics, when you don’t know jack shit.” Well, while she was exaggerating, she had a point. Dan had suggested the same thing.

“Dan was kinder, but -- then -- Dan’s a friend. He did say, though, that I thought too much of my MBA and not enough of doctorates.”

“Well, I don’t have a doctorate, yet.” Now, she was backing down.

“No, but your professors do. And you weren’t telling me something your professors weren’t telling you.”

“Actually, I was telling you something you could look up yourself. It wasn’t abstract theory, it was the rate of growth of real GDP. Look, you think professional economics is a bunch of abstractions, don’t you?”

“Yeah, and I have to go to work dealing with particular figures every day.”

“I’ll bet I look at more numbers than you do. They’re aggregated, sure. You don’t ask your salesman how many minutes they spent with Dr. Smith and how many minutes they spent with Dr. Jones. You do ask him how many minutes he spent with doctors that day.” Which wasn’t quite true, and the inaccuracy threw him off the point she was making.

“Maybe I should. Actually, I don’t.”

“Well, I don’t look at what your company sold this week, but I do look at what the drug industry sold last year. And I look at what every other industry sold last year, too. Until my head is swimming in numbers.” Now, he saw her point.

“But,” she continued, “that isn’t what I wanted to say.” Just when he’d been about to agree.

“I’ll listen.” Listening might get him somewhere. Talking sure-as-hell hadn’t. Well, it had got him in the doghouse.

“What you studied was microeconomics. It’s not really the same. They are terribly abstract. And, really, the abstractions aren’t close to the real world. What’s the competition for a burger-Hop double?”

“Huh? A Whopper, I guess.”

“But they aren’t really the same.”

“I don’t think they are.”

“We’re sitting in Burger Hut, having got here in a Packard. You sell drugs. Are there other companies which sell drugs identical to yours?”

“There are generics, which claim to be as good, but they’re not really. They don’t go through the same trials.”

“Do they sell for the same price?”

“God no! Even so, we have to cut our prices when generics come out. Wrecks the profit margin.”

“So, there is no direct competition for the car we’re sitting in, for the food we’re eating, for the stuff you sell. But micro theory is based on an auction market. There just aren’t all that many actual auction markets setting prices in this economy.”

“There’s the stock market.” She was losing him again.

“So there is. And, look at the stock market. They set a new price for any particular stock every minute. So, the grocery store doesn’t act like the stock market. But the basis of classical microeconomics is that everyday prices are set on an auction market. The papers aren’t studies of particulars, ‘The marginal cost of producing soap, and the resulting price of Palmolive hand soap.’ Instead, they assume that the market somehow does operate that way.” She was, presumably, planning to be a professor. She might be learning economics, she sure hadn’t learned how to teach it. She’d lost him completely.

“But macro isn’t done that way. People dig into tons of data. They study what happens when you cut taxes, when you raise taxes, when you run a deficit, when you spend lots on new roads. And it’s a bitch, too.” She sounded like she was more desperate about her classes than mad at him.

“You sound like you’re getting to the end of the term.”

“Well, yes. I’m writing a paper in regional economics. Y’know why Chicago became the railroad capital of the USA?”

“I’m not sure we are. Anyway, it’s at the bottom of Lake Michigan. If you want to go northeast or northwest, you have to pass through Chicago.”

“Or Gary. That’s the point. It’s easy enough to see why Chicago ranks Milwaukee. But the real southernmost point of Lake Michigan is at Gary, but they didn’t build the railroad yards there. Chicago already existed. New York is a major railroad hub because it was the largest city in the country when the rails were being laid. There are factors and factors -- and more factors.” Now she was off him and onto her field.

“The micro boys can tell you precisely what the price of a widget will be. That might not be anywhere close to the actual selling price of widgets, but they can draw two graphs and point you to the price. I, on the other hand, have to explain what happened and -- what is worse -- predict what will happen. Anyone ever tell you about the Tsar’s railroad?”

“No. What Tsar? What railroad?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea what Tsar. The railroad line between Saint Petersburg and Moscow. The tsar came upon a couple of engineers arguing about what was the best route for a railroad line between the two cities.” Didn’t engineers run trains? Did they also plan the routes? “This was when there wasn’t such a line and railroads were rare, at least in Russia. They were pointing to a map and arguing. The tsar grabbed up a ruler and a pencil. He placed one end of the ruler on Saint Petersburg and the other end on Moscow. With the pencil, he drew a line from one to the other. ‘Why there, of course,’ he said.”

“Sounds reasonable, if a bit arbitrary.”

“Well, he didn’t have either of them executed, which counts for being non-arbitrary when you’re the ruler of Russia. The railroad was built on that line. It contains only one curve. Can you guess where that is?” Now she was off his faults entirely. Was she going to go back to how stupid he was if he didn’t know Russian geography?

“At Moscow?” he guessed. Not by the way she was looking. Well, there was only one other sensible guess. “At Saint Petersburg?” She shook her head.

“No. Where the Tsar had his thumb over the edge of the ruler. Now...”

“Really?” Sounded ludicrous, ludicrous enough to be true.

“Really, in the middle of a dead-flat stretch. As I said, neither man was executed; they probably wanted to maintain that record. Now, though, regional economics is the study of where things are done. And, sometimes, it feels like predicting where the tsar is going to put his thumb.” Then she took a breath and veered again.

“But, she said,” I’ve been telling you about the pothole before you’ve seen the road.”

“You did have me rather lost, there,” he told her. “Although the tsar story was one I’ll remember. I’m glad to hear it wasn’t just my density.” She didn’t say that he wasn’t dense. On the other hand, she didn’t say he was either.

“Your office is in the loop, and it doesn’t have all that many employees?” Another jump. What’s ‘all that many’?

“There are quite a few. It’s national HQ as well as regional.”

“But there are more factory employees, and the factories are elsewhere?”

“Sure.”

“I’m thinking of specializing in regional economics, and that is what regional economics is about. Offices get services and prestige by locating in the central business district. They use a small fraction of the company’s space. So, they can afford the high rent of the central business district. How much is it worth to you to be in any particular location? How much does it cost? The people who want to be in a location bid up the rent or the land costs until the people who are willing to pay the price fill the space -- there are no spaces left open and there are no people willing to pay the price left out. Very simple application of economics, but...” First, she called him a simpleton, then she summarized a quarter’s course work and expected him to comprehend. Well, he was having a conversation with her, and she wasn’t listing his faults.

“But?” he asked.

“But there are always other factors. I don’t know when your company moved into that office, but I do know that there were only so many office suites available just then. Maybe another office location would be cheaper or provide more prestige. That isn’t going to get them to move unless the difference is immense; the cost of moving is too great. Why, you’d have to have your cards reprinted.” That was cute.

“That isn’t the cost they’re worrying about, but yeah. And that’s not even considering the tsar’s thumb.”

“Professor Kindle, who’s a great guy,” -- a description of her professor which did not please him, but he hoped he suppressed his jealousy before she could notice it -- “told us that story as a warning. It’s extreme, but the president of your company may be determined to move somewhere that’s more convenient for him. Maybe he doesn’t have the power, but some presidents and chairmen do. And the prestige might be worth something to your company, but not as much as it’s worth to the board. Anyway, there are non-economic forces at work at any time. And there is always the force of the-way-we’ve-always done it. So, the predictions only go so far.

“I’m interested in the field, and it’s a relatively new field. That means that I won’t have so many grey heads standing in the way of my promotion. On the other hand, too many of the studies, not Kindle’s but others’, are closer to the micro ‘This is the way it is in theory, why look at messy facts,’ than to the macro ‘Here are the numbers, let’s see what theory could explain them?’ So, the difference in approach of micro people and macro people is very close to what keeps me up at night.”

“And you think me one of the micro people. I’m really not.” But he’d been claiming that his economic training was as good as hers.

“I’m sorry. This started about you, and I switched it to about me.”

“That’s no problem. I’d rather hear about your worries than about my faults.” That got him a laugh.

“And I don’t think you’re a microeconomist. You work in the real world and look at real numbers, as you’ve pointed out. I do think that what you know of economics is micro. What you think of as economics is micro. And, thus, when I say I’m doing economics, you hear that my head is in the clouds. On the other hand, when you think of what is plain about macro is really distortions that the micro guys spread.

“Sure,” she continued. “if bad times led to a drop in prices, the economy would react to recessions the way they say. But, in case you didn’t notice, these bad times didn’t. In fact, no drop in demand since the Great Depression has led to a drop in prices.” The way she veered from one topic to another had left him dizzy. He had heard a little about the last, though.

“Yeah, but that’s because there hasn’t been a drop in wages. That’s the problem with propping up wages through welfare, unions, minimum wage laws, and the like.”

“But, you see, micro predicts that a drop in demand will lead to a drop in prices even if there isn’t a drop in wages. People want fewer widgets because they’re buying more gadgets. widget productions drops, widget workers go make gadgets. Classical theory predicts that widget prices will fall, even though wages don’t -- the workers are still getting jobs, you see, only making gadgets not widgets. Anyway, a drop in demand for widgets should lead to a drop in price for widgets even without a drop in wages for widget workers. And it doesn’t.” She was certain, and -- as Dan had suggested -- she had arguments for her certainty. Still, she could have been talking Greek for all that he understood of the last.

“Well...” Maybe they could have more discussions, slower discussions about only one point.

“Look, when is your last exam?” he asked.

“Two weeks from next Tuesday.” And until then, she was under intense pressure.

“And are you going back home afterwards, or staying in town?”

“Clearing out.” So, he should ask her for a date the day after the last exam. They could go from there.

“Want me to drive you back to your dorm?” And, so, he did. She was calmer. He figured that they were friends again. When the pressure was off, they might well be a dating couple again.

In church, while they hardly spoke, she was civil when they did. Carolyn skipped the June coffee hour, but so did most of the students. He was waiting. Her last exam was Tuesday. and the last days of exams wouldn’t improve her temper.

Wednesday afternoon, he called from work. He had a private phone, and personal calls at his level weren’t actively discouraged. On the other hand, he should be setting a good example to his subordinates -- he did this by making few of them. This one was worth making an exception. He’d invite her out for the next night. If she agreed, he’d give her her choice of fanciness. He’d known guys who didn’t shave for exam week. Maybe she’d prefer something she didn’t have to dress up for. Maybe she’d be sick of grunginess. For a Thursday, he’d probably be able to get a reservation at Manfredo’s.

“Hello.” Telephone etiquette wasn’t part of the Northwestern core curriculum.

“Carolyn Nolan please.” He heard the name shouted and the receiver brush against the wall. He pictured it swinging on the cord.

“Carolyn Nolan.” She, at least, identified herself on the phone.

“This is Bill Pierce. You’re finished with your exams, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yesterday.”

“How would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow night?” Or, to put it another way, have you forgiven me enough to try me again?

“I’m sorry. I won’t be in town.” And, before he could even think of the tonight loophole, she closed it. “I’m heading out to O’Hare in an hour. We’ll speak when I come back, though.” Which was very clear. She was his church friend. They would speak in church, and they would speak civilly. She was certainly being civil now, unlike the ‘not if you were the last man on earth’ line. But she was not his girlfriend, and she was not going to be. Well, a polite excuse was a major improvement. It just wasn’t the improvement he wanted.

“I’m sorry to miss you.” If she could be civil, he should be, too. “Do you have any idea how you did?”

“On the exams? I’m keeping my fingers crossed, but there weren’t any questions where I drew an absolute blank.”

“That sounds good. Well, I’ll let you go.” And he let his dreams of her go, too.

With summer coming on and certainty of a chilly school year, he should date. Denise already knew too much of his business. He didn’t want somebody else she knew. He thought of Ruth Deeds, a recent divorcee in the church. She agreed to go out with him for dinner.

“I really don’t understand the dating game these days,” she told him over dinner. “Greg and I got engaged at our senior prom. It was a long engagement, but there was nobody else for me from long before that -- we were sixteen when we began going steady -- until he left.” He expressed sympathy, thinking that she needed to decide whether she was on a date or confiding her anxiety about dating. He had enough anxieties of his own, but she wasn’t going to hear them.

They got onto more pleasant subjects, though. When he stopped the car at her door, he had decided to ask her out again sometime. He should probably date someone else in between, though. He needed to be in the swim.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked. “Ron will be asleep.” Was the invitation what he thought? His dick twitched, but his mind raised a warning. He was after a date, not an affair. And, he really didn’t want an affair with anyone who would offer like that. He wanted to be the hunter and not the game. Instead, he walked her to the door and kissed her.

“I’d love to, but I’ve got things scheduled. Another time.” And he drove away.

It looked like a lonely summer.

He didn’t really approve of wearing political buttons to church. His employer, Andalusia Pharmaceuticals, didn’t allow them at the work-place, either. He was tempted, though, by all the McGovern buttons the students were wearing now that they were back in church after their summers away. Carolyn was acting like an adult, though, and he still had enough hopes of moving their friendship further sometime in the future to keep his Nixon-Agnew button for the street, too.

His interaction with Carolyn was friendly, if not as friendly as he would wish.

“Welcome back,” he had greeted her after the service her first Sunday in town. “Did you have a nice summer?”

“Restful after exams. And you?”

“Pleasant, if a little hot. Can’t say that Chicago climate doesn’t give you variety, sometimes it’s too hot, sometimes too cold, and sometimes too wet.” She’d laughed lightly, but more than the joke deserved.

“And your luck on the baby front?” she’d asked.

“The Bells are awfully possessive, but I have hopes for the Robinsons.” Vi Robinson was clearly pregnant, if not yet in the last months. He was tempted to ask when she was due, but she was very recently married to Dennis, and he suspected that the topic might embarrass them.

“Poor Bill. You should start a family of your own.” He’d been tempted to ask whether she was volunteering. But that was his dream for their relationship. She’d turned down his invitation to dinner, let alone bed.

“A bachelor has no children to speak of. Besides one’s own would grow up.”

“Somehow, I can’t picture you with a claim on kids without your holding them in your arms. Secret sins, I can believe; a secret family, I can’t.”

“You, on the other hand, look too innocent to have any secret sins.”

“I’m not innocent at all.” She’d seemed slightly pissed at being called innocent.

“Well, if you tell me, you still won’t have any secret sins.” She’d laughed and walked away. He’d watched her buns flex under the dress. The weather had been too fine to believe she would accept a ride. They’d talked the next week, too. After that, she sang in the choir and left by another door. They only spoke at coffee hour.

The election roused tensions even among the adults. But those tensions soon dissipated. The second Sunday in November, Dan Hagopian came up to him. If they’d kept their conversations short and avoided certain topics, it was to maintain their friendship.

“Would you like to have Thanksgiving with Gladys and me?” Dan asked. “The kids are coming back and would probably like to see you.”

“Why thank you. Should I bring something?”

“Nothing but yourself.” Despite those words, he arrived with a bottle of wine. The store told him that white went with turkey. Barbara was pregnant, which led to Keith teasing him about his kidnaping the baby. Not that he had any hopes of prying a baby out of Gladys and Dan’s hands. Many parents were easy; grandparents, especially grandparents with distant families briefly visiting, were impossible. Still, he’d try to wrangle an invitation to next Thanksgiving from Dan. While they were still talking, Carolyn walked in.

“Bill?”

“Hey, this wasn’t my idea.” Carolyn had definite rules, and he couldn’t always figure them out. He had no idea how she’d interpret this.

“It wasn’t the idea of either of you,” Gladys said. “Guests don’t get to veto other guests. Now, be nice and sit down.”

He and Carolyn weren’t only both guests, they were seated together. Keith was on their side of the table, while Barbara and her husband, Brian, were on the other. The host and hostess took the two ends. Dan said a prayer and began to slice. Keith took a massive serving of dressing and passed that bowl. Carolyn seemed to accept that the surprise was Gladys’s doing. She was quite nice to him. Her grades had been quite satisfactory, two As and two Bs.

“Professor Kindle was quite nice about my paper on Chicago as a transportation hub,” she said. “I called it, ‘From the Chicago River to O’Hare.’”

“And how long is that?” The river had two main branches, and he didn’t know how close the northern branch got to O’Hare.

“More than a century. Chicago was first settled and grew because of the river and its mouth. Then railroads came here because it was a big city -- other reasons, of course, but the railroads went from city to city -- the bigger the city the better. Then, because it was an even-bigger city and because it was already a transportation hub for railroads, O’Hare became a major airline and air-freight hub. Sorry!” She directed the last to the whole table.

“I know what it means to have written a paper on a fascinating subject which doesn’t fascinate quite everybody,” Dan said. “Damn frustrating.”

“‘Not quite everybody’” Keith said, “means his entire family. And we’re the ones who got frustrated.”

“After all,” Dan continued, “it’s better than the minutiae of pushing pills.” Dan needn’t worry. He didn’t take his work to social gatherings.

“Minutiae, maybe,” Carolyn responded, “but Bill can make his work fascinating.” The girl was defending him.

“Maybe, just maybe,” Gladys put in, “the fascinating part was less the speech than the speaker. Just maybe.” Carolyn actually blushed. She hadn’t been fascinated by him; she’d thought he was a piece of shit.

The talk turned to what the kids had been doing while away. Keith might have been bored with his father’s academic activities, but Dan was quite interested in Keith’s studies. While Bill was less interested, he did like Keith. Barbara, on the other hand, had the real news. Carolyn was sympathetic, and Bill learned the due date and her planned schedule for a visit home.

“Don’t worry, Bill,” Dan said. “You’re invited to next Thanksgiving, too.”

“Bill’s a baby freak, Brian,” Barbara explained. “You can trust him not to hurt them, but you might keep your eye on the door next year just in case.”

“Now, Barbara, I always give a kid back when asked.”

“By an armed mob of parents.” Then she changed the subject entirely.

“Really, Bill, isn’t Carolyn too old for you?”

“Too young?” he responded, “She is hardly jail bait. She’s a grad student, older than you are if she didn’t skip a grade or a year in college.” Even so, she was probably older than Barbara, but you didn’t make peace with a girl by overestimating, or even correctly estimating, her age.