"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
fucked, 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?"
"Saturday, 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 fucked, man.
Do something.