Chapter 5

Bill was sitting with Carolyn and enjoying their talk.

“Sometimes,” Carolyn said about their communication problems, “it’s you and me, but sometimes it’s your world and mine.”

“Maybe. All sorts of people have all sorts of different language problems.” That did raise a memory, but she was too far away. “Come here.” He lifted her onto his lap. She was sweet, if not always coherent. “Y’know, what you said, I read some language pooh-bah. He wrote that ‘finalize’ was businessmen being fancy when they meant ‘finish.’”

“And it isn’t?” Well, she hadn’t disagreed. And she was soft, and her neck did taste nice.

“Nope. When you finalize a contract, you put it in the terms that are going to be signed. Both sides, hopefully, know what the contract requires. When you finish a contract, then you complete it, fulfill it, perform it. Two entirely different stages. Sure, both are some sort of end point, but they are different end points. Language purists, who never negotiated a contract, or fulfilled one, either, don’t have a use for the distinction. So, they make fun of those of us who do.”

“Yeah. One of those columns got passed around one of my classes. The idiot had said that ‘out of the work force’ should be called ‘unemployed.’ Except, not one single person in the entire country is in both categories at once. If you’re unemployed, you’re looking for work; if you’re looking for work, you’re in the work force. Your Alice isn’t counted in the unemployment figures, for example.” She wasn’t his Alice any more than Carolyn was his Carolyn. Both girls had quite definite wills of their own.

“She’s hard at work, just not at work on anything she’s paid to do -- nor, nine times out of ten, anything she’s permitted to do. Is she really counted as out of the work force?”

“Not really,” Carolyn admitted. “They start at sixteen. But I’m not in the civilian labor force. They take a survey. They ask how many people in the family are working that week, how many are seeking work that week.”

“They say.” And, of course, that was what was wrong with unemployment figures. It was what people said. If you really wanted a job, you could find one.

“They say.” She went absolutely rigid under his hands. Somehow, his hands could tell anger rigidity from pre-orgasmic rigidity. The objective hardness was much alike, but the subjective sense was totally different. “You object to the size of the federal government. One of the expenses is for people to take that phone survey. Each one calls a family, asks a few questions, calls another family. They could be replaced with teams of private investigators shadowing each family member. They’d catch the people who weren’t really looking for work and the people who had jobs paid under the table -- although those jobs could be reported with perfect safety. People think that the government’s left hand knows what its right hand is doing. But how much would those investigators cost? Really, you know, it isn’t that important.”

“Unimportant? Isn’t that the data you’re so proud of studying?” He shouldn’t be arguing.

“Sure. But what we really study is the changes in the data. Three percent is about the rock-bottom for the unemployment figures. Do you really believe that anything like 3% of your fellow citizens lie about something like that? Anyway, when the numbers change, we have enough other evidence that the change is real; it’s not just more people lying. Politicians in office always want the counting methods to change when the figures show bad times. If you threw out the thermometer, you wouldn’t know how high your fever was, but you wouldn’t be less sick.” Now they were fighting, and fighting, not about something he had done, but about something some other guys had done.

“You take this personally, don’t you?” He’d just asked a damned rhetorical question. She took it personally enough to be mad at him for what some politician said.

“Damn right, I do. There are people working their asses off to gather figures to tell us what is going on in this country. And I live on those figures -- less present figures than past figures. Then some of those figures are printed in the newspapers. Then some crooked politician gets the figures from the newspaper and makes up some way those could be misleading.

“Look,” she continued, “I had a friend once who was into fighting about evolution.”

“He didn’t believe in evolution?” He was trying to follow her jumps in subject.

“He believed in it. He wasn’t content to ignore the people arguing against it. This was in Arkansas, remember.” He could hardly remember. It was the first time she’d mentioned it, but it made sense. “Anyway, he pointed out that the Creationists had given up on biologists. They were arguing against what schoolchildren know. They claim that all the animals that gave rise to fossils died at once and sank into the sea. The dinosaurs sank to the bottom because they were the biggest and heaviest. He pointed out that dinosaurs you learned about as a kid were all big.” She gestured grandly. “The oldest dinosaur known, and -- therefore -- the deepest excavated fossil dinosaur, was the size of a chicken. Creationists don’t have to explain that dinosaur, ‘cause they aren’t interested in anybody who knows that much.

“Anyway, your right-wing friends are like that.” She was being unfair. They weren’t his friends, and they weren’t fighting Darwin. “The figures reported in the newspaper are people who report that they are looking for work. The survey also reports the people reporting that they are too discouraged to look for work, but the conservative politicians don’t have to explain those figures, because only a few people study them. So, they claim that the people reporting that they are looking for work are lying about that. What they don’t tell you is that when there is an uptick in employment, the number reporting that they are too discouraged to look drops and the number reporting that they are looking rises. So, the first result of a thaw in unemployment is a rise in the number of unemployed. Paradoxical, but well-verified.” Again, she saw some connection. There very well might be some connection. But she hadn’t made it clear.

“Now,” she continued, “it is very easy to explain why more people do look for work when they hear of a friend being hired. It is damn-well impossible to explain why more people lie about looking for work when the employment numbers rise. Can you?” Okay, she made some connections in her diatribe, but the connections were an accusation against him.

“Look,” he answered, “we started talking about us. Maybe it’s my fault. I thought we could talk about us and then move from talking to doing. Now, you want to talk about my right-wing friends. They aren’t really my friends, and I can’t see any way to move from talking about them to doing.”

“Well, if you’re interested in doing, why did you stop?” Because she had been coiled tight as a spring. He’d been afraid she would have hit him, maybe bitten him, worst yet, maybe stormed out.

“I didn’t know whether we were fighting or making love.”

“Look, Bill, I really like you. Sometimes, though, I have a little problem establishing boundaries with you. You aren’t exactly the most perceptive guy dealing with that. Anyway, I decided that -- when we’re alone and I think you’ve crossed one of my boundaries -- I’ll tell you straight out.” That was another jump in topic, but it would be great if she did that. Reading her wasn’t the easiest task in the world.

“I wish you would,” he said. “But your voice sounded awfully angry just then. I backed off. Anyway, when I tried to read your boundaries at the end of last school year, I got them. Then, what I didn’t get was when you changed them. Maybe you should tell me that, too.”

“The end of last year? You were interested in a date. Then, when I came back, you weren’t interested anymore.”

“I was plenty interested,” he told her. “But you told me very clearly that we would talk in a friendly fashion at church. You would not go out with me. I was afraid that any pursuit was more likely to change the first than the second.”

“Let’s get this straight. I tell you I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man on earth, and you kidnap me to talk at Burger Hop.” That wasn’t when he was talking about at all. “I tell you I won’t change my air reservation for you -- change it when my father was expecting to meet me at the airport -- and you decide to leave me alone. That’s the opposite of what I said. I said that I’d be clear.” Okay, that was, sort of. But it was a skewed description.

“It wasn’t like that.” He sounded defensive even to himself.

“What was it like?”

“What had I to lose?” He would take care of the first situation first. “You’d said you wouldn’t date me if I was the last man alive on earth. Would you say that you wouldn’t date me if I was the last man alive in the Solar System?” Now, he would deal with the second.

“On the other hand, you said quite clearly that we’d talk in church. When you ‘weren’t talking to me’ we really talked, but not in a friendly manner. You wouldn’t go out on a date, but you would talk to me. I saw that as a threat -- if I kept bugging you, you would stop talking to me in a friendly manner.”

“Bill, it’s not just our worlds. It’s also us.” They started kissing again, and she cooperated. When he took it to the next step, however, her naked melons, she got up before he could open her bra. “You’re planning this to end in bed, aren’t you?” Was something wrong with that? Was she going to fight that?

“Well, yes.”

“Then let’s go there.” She could suggest that any time. “If I have space for my clothes, I’ll use it.” She got several things out of her book bag, including a brush.

“Will you let me brush your hair? You can tell me what to do.” Somebody would have to brush her hair. Why shouldn’t it be the person who enjoyed it?

“I’ll get too cold,” she answered. They really needed to get that space heater. On the other hand, you didn’t want loose hair in front of a space heater; it might singe it. Well, her hair wasn’t that long, and his plan to persuade her to grow it that long didn’t look promising.

“Couldn’t I brush it while you’re still dressed. It’s so lovely.” She agreed, He moved one of the kitchen chairs into the bedroom, and sometimes sat in it. She directed him, although a lot of the direction was to brush through snarls -- which would pull out hair -- instead of teasing them loose. He got all the hair this time, and it looked even lovelier.

They had separate bathroom times. When he got back from his, she was already in bed lying on her new pillow.

“Pillow is new.” He stripped off the robe and put the wrapped rubber under his pillow. He got in bed before answering.

“Bought it this noon. Should have asked your preference.” Instead of responding, she laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I’ve read about pillow talk for years,” she said. “I just realized that now I’ve engaged in it.”

“They don’t mean...” Except that they had had pillow talk, even if it was about pillows. “Well, really it is.” She kept laughing. He tried to warm his right hand in his left armpit but took it out too soon. He rested it on her belly, feeling the softness of her acceptance. He kissed her sweet mouth and held her warm melon. She relaxed under his attentions. They had so much, if only they didn’t talk to each other.

And they shared so much pleasure that night. First, the sex, then the cuddle afterward. He was still holding her when he awoke in the morning.

“Sweet Carolyn,” he asked after tightening his grip. “Do you need your bathroom time first?” He watched a nude, although -- unfortunately -- fuzzy, Carolyn scramble towards the bathroom grabbing her robe on the way. He couldn’t keep his contacts in all night, could he?

She was back in bed, looking enticing, when he came out. But duty called. He cooked, ate, finished dressing. She still hadn’t stirred. He went back to the bedroom to kiss her goodbye and check on her schedule.

“What time is your first class?”

“Eleven.” She answered as if she had been awake.

“What time should I set the alarm?” Contrary as always, she got up in response to that question. She was as naked as before, and quite clear in his sight. “I love you,” he said.

“Can you wait while I fix breakfast?”

“Made my own.” And was quite right not to have fixed her some. The eggs would be cold. “I have to leave, Kiss me goodbye.” The kiss was lovely. If the robe blocked his eyes, it allowed his hands access. But he had to go.

It was a busy day. He took a short lunch but took enough time to cash a check. He left a little late. When he got home, Carolyn was there. The day looked much brighter, even though the sun was down.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Fine. I’m going to have a teaching assistanceship next semester. Professor Kindle said so.”

“Didn’t we say that we would live on my income until you got your PhD?”

“No,” she answered, “we said I would do what it took to get the best future. The teaching assistanceship is one part of that. When you see the paycheck, you’ll understand that it’s not moneygrubbing on my part.”

“Then congratulations. I shouldn’t be trying to manage that. I don’t understand that part of your life at all. But, since I don’t understand it, maybe you could explain it when something happens.”

“You’re right.” Which seemed to surprise her. Well, her saying that surprised him.

“And, speaking of money, here’s some. I know you said that you had enough, but I got a little cash. You might want to shop for groceries or gas.” He gave her the fives. “I figure that anywhere, even on the CTA, you can use one of these. Twenty-five dollars isn’t going to get you far, but you can tell me when it runs out.” She took the money, looking dubious. “Did you study here?”

“Sure.”

“How did it go?”

“Well,” she said. “I brought the books with me.”

“And do we celebrate your good news with a meal out?” He couldn’t smell anything from the kitchen. Anyway, he didn’t want to look like he expected a home-cooked meal. She was in jeans, though, which limited their celebratory options.

“If it’s my celebration, can I choose the meal?”

“Sure.” She could choose the meal, anyway.

“Pizza!” Carolyn was many things, but she wasn’t a gold-digger. So, they went out for pizza. The place served wine and beer, but she opted for a root beer.

“Look, can you give me the date?”

“Well,” she said, “I have said it is semester break. I haven’t written Mama, though. I don’t want to say a day until I’m sure.” Well, that wouldn’t work, but she didn’t know why.

“Let me tell you my situation. I want to announce the marriage (or the engagement, or something) to the company by a memo telling that I’m getting married and I want one week of vacation time for prep and for the honeymoon. Your semester break is one week, no?”

“Yeah.”

“So,” he continued, “I’ll ask for the same week. If the wedding turns out to be on a different day, that won’t bother them so long as I take the time I said I would. But I want to tell them the wedding is scheduled on a particular day. So, what I want from my fiancée is to schedule the wedding. If you change the schedule, so long as it isn’t a major change, no sweat.”

“Y’know, when you’re explicit about your needs, it makes great sense. You should do that more often.”

“But, maybe, not where we can be overheard.” She smiled at his answer.

“The first Saturday in semester break is February 17. Let’s schedule it then.”

“Thanks. One more thing,” he continued. “Do you have a picture? College graduation portrait or something?”

“I might, but it would be at home.”

“Well that would be nice on my desk. We’ll get a wedding-day portrait. I know we said we weren’t going fancy, but office decor is part of being an executive. Like your assistanceship, although much less work, it says that I’m playing the same game that they are.”

“And it’s all a game, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Not all. Dan told me about the coat-in-the-office rule. A professor can teach in his shirt sleeves all day on warm days, but he has to have a sports coat hanging in his office.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen that.”

“Well, it doesn’t keep him employed if he doesn’t publish some papers. Now does it? Similarly, I have to get results. My representatives have to see the doctors. Sales in my region have to keep their percentage of total sales. Otherwise, I’m out. But If I don’t have a photo of my wife on my desk, turned to face me, then I’m suspect. They wouldn’t fire me so long as my figures remained respectable, but they wouldn’t promote me either. I can’t work in my shirt sleeves. I can’t wear a sports coat, or even a cheap suit, in the office. I can’t wear the same suit all week long. I can only eat lunch at my desk when the work requires my presence.”

“You know,” she said, “I was about to snigger at that, but one question I’m going to have about being a teaching assistant is how women teaching assistants are supposed to dress.”

“Yeah. Dress is a smaller part of the unwritten rules for faculty than it is for executives, but they have other rules. Committees, for example. Dan and I have compared notes.”