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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58725 ***
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+                                QUICKIE
+
+                           BY MILTON LESSER
+
+               _Dr. Kinsey, meet Mr. Grover, the amorous
+           adventurer. Even in a world of polygamous sexual
+            relations and legal multiple marriages, here is
+                  the nation's champion philanderer!_
+
+           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
+              Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1954.
+         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+Simon Grover always felt like a goldfish in a coptercab. The plexiglass
+bubble afforded full 360 degree vision, but people could also see you
+from the crowded traffic lanes above a big city.
+
+"Hurry," said Simon Grover, a small, energetic man with close-set hazel
+eyes and a stubborn chin.
+
+"I'm hurrying," the pilot told him with frustrating indifference.
+
+In another few moments he would be safe. He squirmed around and saw
+another copter rise above the express lane and close the gap between
+them. It had never been this close before. The aquamarine roof of the
+Marriage Building loomed ahead, then swelled up at them. The other
+copter buzzed closer.
+
+"Don't see any landing space," the pilot said laconically.
+
+Simon squinted down anxiously. The copters were lined up in neat
+but crowded rows on the rooftop, with hardly more than walking space
+between them.
+
+"Hover," Simon pleaded. "I'll jump."
+
+"I could lose my license."
+
+Simon reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of bills. "This is
+important to me," he said.
+
+The pilot pocketed the money, then swooped down toward the roof.
+Suspended grotesquely eight feet above the aquamarine surface, blades
+whirling, the coptercab hovered. Simon grunted his thanks and slid back
+the door. The other copter was fanning air above them and dropping fast
+when Simon jumped.
+
+His left leg struck the side of a parked cab and threw him off balance.
+He landed on his shoulder, rolled over and scrambled to his feet.
+He darted between the rows of copters, thankful for the partial
+protection their blades offered him. A parabeam zipped down at the long
+shadow he cast in the late afternoon sun, but in another moment he had
+reached the roof entrance to the Marriage Building and flung himself
+inside.
+
+Breathing hard, he smoothed his rumpled clothing with shaking hands.
+That had been entirely too close. They thought he was fleeing because
+he did not want to work for a living. Rot. If he were ever captured,
+all the romance would go from his life.
+
+He sauntered down the long, pleasant corridor lined with murals of
+domestic tranquility--family gathered around the dining table, father
+and son raking leaves in the front yard, graceful elderly couple
+entertaining children and grandchildren at a merry hearth, young
+husband and wife going to bed. He was in no hurry now, for the Marriage
+Building was legal sanctuary.
+
+He passed the long lines of registering Quickies, men filing into one
+room, women into another. He let his glance rove the line of female
+Quickies, wondering if his new wife would come from this group. They
+ranged in age from eighteen to about sixty, he guessed, and naturally
+they were of all conceivable types. He caught himself in time and
+stopped looking. It was not considered proper etiquette.
+
+Rounding a turn in the corridor, Simon took the slidestair down one
+level to where Transients registered and attached himself to the end of
+a long line of men which was swallowed slowly by a doorway above which
+was the legend:
+
+                          MARRIAGE COUNSELORS
+
+Simon checked his counterfeit registration papers and was aware of the
+old, familiar feeling of uncertainty. His heart bobbed up into his
+throat and pounded there. His palms were clammy, his fingers wouldn't
+keep still. Would the papers pass inspection? He was almost certain
+they would. But he savored the other possibility although he hated
+its ultimate consequences. As some people craved security, so others
+thrived on adventure.
+
+Simon lit a cigaret and waited while the line crawled forward,
+parallelling a line of female Transients moving through another doorway.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Sit down, Mr. Grover," the Counselor said as Simon entered the room.
+It was a large place with a central aisle and a dozen private cubbies
+on either side, each one with celotex walls, a desk, two chairs, the
+latest in marriage literature, and a Counselor.
+
+Simon eased his small frame into a comfortable chair and handed his
+papers to the Counselor. "I see you have come from Philadelphia,"
+the man said, smiling not quite professionally--which, Simon knew,
+was the best of all professional smiles. "Were the accommodations
+satisfactory? Of course, you don't have to talk about them."
+
+"They were fine. Just fine." Naturally, Simon did not tell the
+Counselor about his flight from the police.
+
+"How long will you be with us in New York?"
+
+"I figure about three weeks. It depends on business, though. Might be a
+little longer, I guess."
+
+"We'll say three weeks." The Counselor scrawled something on Simon's
+registration form. "Now, Mr. Grover, exactly what kind of wife are you
+looking for?"
+
+"To tell you the truth, I haven't given it much thought yet."
+
+"Splendid," the Counselor was delighted with the opportunity to expound
+on his wares. "As you know, we have six basic types." He removed six
+colorful folders from six stacks on his desk and handed them to Simon.
+
+"The first," he went on, "is the newlywed Quickie. The red folder, Mr.
+Grover. She has just completed her honeymoon, is not pregnant, and has
+been married for no more than six months."
+
+Simon examined the folder. On the cover was pictured a young man
+carrying his bride, complete with bashful smile, across the threshold
+of their home. There were suggestive dining room, patio and bedroom
+scenes inside, with appropriate captions.
+
+"The second type," explained the Counselor, "is the new mother." The
+folder showed a charming young woman breast-feeding an infant. The
+Counselor went on to the other types: the middle mother, a woman of
+about thirty with two children, one of pre-school age and one in
+the first three grades; the teener, with from two to five children
+in their teens or early twenties; the pre-gram, with any number of
+married children living away from home, but no grandchildren; and the
+grandmother.
+
+"You understand," the Counselor said, "we have all types in between as
+well. These are merely the basics." He surveyed Simon's registration
+papers again. "You're thirty-five, Mr. Grover. A fine age, I might say.
+You'd be suited to any type, with the exception of the grandmother."
+
+"I don't want the grandmother, anyway," Simon told him. "You know, I
+think I'll take the newlywed this time."
+
+The Counselor winked knowingly. "Still a lot of get-up-and-go in the
+old copter, eh?"
+
+"It's spring," Simon said.
+
+"Yes. We find it most interesting, that certain types are favored in
+the various seasons. Newlyweds in the spring, pre-grams in the summer,
+middle mothers in the fall, new mothers and grandmothers in the winter.
+Confidentially, Mr. Grover, I've always longed to be a Transient
+myself. But you have to be a Quickie to hold this job, since you're in
+one place for such a long period of time. Well, what type of newlywed
+did you have in mind?"
+
+Simon licked his lips eagerly. In Philadelphia the last time he had
+come close to learning the parting ritual. But it tripped him up, as
+usual, and he reached New York one step ahead of the police. "She must
+be very impressionable," Simon said, "and very talkative. She must be
+eager to discuss the theories of multiple marriage--"
+
+"Most newlyweds are," the Counselor pointed out.
+
+"Well, particularly so. And, of course, she must not be carrying a
+torch for her honeymoon husband."
+
+"That's rare these days, Mr. Grover."
+
+"It happened to me once, in St. Louis. Had an awful time."
+
+"Then she probably was a misfit. After all, the institution of multiple
+marriages is almost eighty years old, and the _only_ form of marriage
+in the United States today. If we were still in the early pioneering
+days you might have cause to worry. Ideas of propinquity still seemed
+important then, and people were concerned with such things as lasting
+relationships, though for the life of me I can't see why."
+
+"They thought it was more secure," suggested Simon.
+
+"But it isn't. In the old days, statistics proved that if a man or
+woman was saddled with one mate too long, it often led to trouble. The
+old _Et al_ report of 1979 shocked the world with its figures: ninety
+five percent of all married men had illicit relations with other women,
+and the figure was almost as high for women. Relations with unmarried
+people. It's rather horrible, isn't it, Mr. Grover?"
+
+"I suppose so," said Simon, half-listening. All he needed now was the
+parting ritual. A nice, impressionable, talkative newlywed girl....
+
+"As usual," the Counselor continued in a dedicated voice, "man had
+leaped ahead of his outmoded institutions without realizing it.
+The notion of marriage based largely on propinquity and permanent
+relationship just didn't fit the modern tempo of civilization, where
+transient workers dart across the continent constantly, always on the
+move, hardly staying in one place long enough to hang their hats, as
+the expression goes. Marital infidelity in the old days led to crimes
+of passion, to divorce, to unsettled families, to children reared in
+orphanages or by strangers--perfect strangers, mind you--to divorce and
+re-marriages and so much energy and time and money wasted on second and
+even third courtships.
+
+"Fortunately, the social institution fits the tempo of the culture
+today. A Transient--man or woman--gets married and provides for one
+spouse, one family, but has the pick of the nation to choose from. Even
+a Quickie like myself is stimulated by constant variety and change. No
+one is ever bored. You don't have to see your original mate ever again,
+as long as you, as a Transient, provide for her. The Quickies, in their
+turn, will provide for you in all your subsequent marriages. You have
+the novelty and satisfaction of a true change in environment every time
+you travel, but you also have the comfort and security of a home."
+
+"This newlywed girl must also be naive," said Simon. "That's important."
+
+The Counselor made another notation. "You know," he said, "there is one
+small school of thought which claims the novelty, the verve and sparkle
+are lacking because the constant variation is perfectly legal. Perhaps
+they have a point there: secrecy _is_ stimulating. But they refuse to
+admit we even provide for that. After all, a Transient assumes the name
+of his temporary spouse, his Quickie. No one, not even the Quickie,
+knows his real identity. The Marriage records are available to no one,
+not even the government, not even the police, thus preserving the sense
+of--well, freshness for the Transients.
+
+"But I digress. Have you any physical preferences, Mr. Grover?"
+
+"I'm not very tall. Keep her down to my size, please. And I want a
+pretty wife."
+
+The Counselor made his final notations, rolled Simon's registration
+papers and stuffed them into a pneumotube which he dropped into a wall
+slot. The tube, Simon knew, was being whisked to Quickie Records,
+Newlywed Division, where identification of the girl fitting his
+requirements would be made by the machine records unit of available
+newlyweds. Last time, in Philadelphia, he had selected a garrulous old
+grandmother and hated every moment of the two weeks he had spent with
+her. It had been against the recommendations of the Counselor there,
+who had claimed the age difference would not make for harmony. The man
+had been right, but worse yet, the old hag had been too wily to reveal
+what Simon had to know.
+
+"Congress is considering a law," said the Counselor as they waited for
+the return of Simon's registration papers, "which would permit Quickies
+and Transients to alternate year after year. It would cause social
+upheaval at the beginning, but it's only fair to us Quickies, don't you
+think?"
+
+Simon shrugged. The man was starting to bother him. "I'd rather be a
+Transient," he said. "I'm for the _status quo_."
+
+"But Quickies have no choice in the matter, don't you see? We have to
+marry whoever comes along. My last wife--"
+
+"As a Quickie, you're not supposed to talk about her."
+
+The Counselor blanched at what had almost amounted to a sin. "Thank
+you," he said, and waited in silence for the pneumotube.
+
+Finally, it came, popping out of the wall slot and alighting on the
+desk. The Counselor removed Simon's papers and unrolled them, revealing
+a set of similar papers rolled tightly within. These he opened and
+spread on the desk, beckoning Simon to come around behind him and take
+a look.
+
+The first thing Simon saw was the snapshot, in the latest trivision
+process. The girl looked pretty enough, with a pale, heart-shaped face
+set off against short-cropped, shining black hair. She had enormous,
+child-like eyes.
+
+"How do you do?" the picture said. "I am Jane-Marie Paige. I miss you."
+
+"See," said the Counselor, "she has a lovely voice."
+
+Simon nodded, picked up the trivision snapshot and held it under
+his nose, sniffing delicately. He liked the scent of Jane-Marie's
+perfume--not too musky, not too flowery, but that ideal compromise
+which indicated she would be neither too sultry nor too fragile.
+
+The Counselor wrote in Simon's name on her papers, printing "approx. 3
+wks" under the column for time, and handed both rolls to Simon. "Her
+address is in the second column," he said. "Visit us again on your next
+trip to New York, Mr. Grover. And good luck."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+By the time Simon took the tubeway out to the suburban Long Island
+community in which Jane-Marie Paige lived, the bright spring afternoon
+was fading into dusk, tinting the western sky with bands of color
+ranging from deep blue and purple through mauve to delicate, dusty
+pink. The smell of spring was in the air, but with the coming of
+night the lingering chill of winter was still apparent. It would be
+great, coming home again to a new wife, to a drink and an excellent
+home-cooked dinner, to a cozy fire perhaps--especially when you
+could have all that and still retain the pulse-quickening feeling of
+adventure.
+
+Whistling, Simon found Maple Lane and walked by the rows of spherical
+houses which could rotate with the sun from equinox to solstice and
+back again. Simon could tell it was a development of newlywed homes
+by their small size, by the absence of baby carriages and toys on the
+front lawns, by the small clumps of white birch trees and windows with
+their curtains drawn.
+
+He found the address listed on Jane-Marie's registration papers and
+turned up the walk, noticing the small, ranch-type name post with "Mr.
+and Mrs. Jane-Marie Paige" on it in big gold letters.
+
+"It's Simon," he said as the door slid soundlessly into the curving
+wall. "I'm home."
+
+Suddenly, Jane-Marie appeared there in the doorway. She must have been
+at one of the curtained windows, peeking out at him. There were soft
+lights behind her and a delicate halo circled her dark hair from the
+raditiara she wore.
+
+"Simon," she said, barely above a whisper, a radiant smile on her face.
+"They called me. Come in, darling."
+
+But she still barred the doorway. When he came in he came into the arms
+of his waiting wife, his newlywed wife, his Jane-Marie. "I missed you
+ever since they sent your picture," she breathed, while he kissed the
+lobes of her ears, the tip of her nose, her eyes, her warm, eager lips.
+
+"Jane-Marie," he said. It was genuinely thrilling to her, he sensed. It
+was more than that to him. It was--it was illicitly thrilling, worth
+all the quick exits and close calls with the police.
+
+"You'll muss me," Jane-Marie scolded him, drawing away and rearranging
+her hair under the tiara. "There. Are you hungry?"
+
+"Honey, I'm famished."
+
+"Well, I'm making no promises. I'm not much of a cook, really. They
+didn't tell me how long you were going to stay, but I should improve
+enough so when the next--"
+
+"Sh. I'll be here three weeks."
+
+"Come in, come in." She took his hand in her own warm one, pressing the
+door button and dimming the hall light as they walked into the house.
+"Tell me about yourself, darling. What do you do? How are you going to
+spend your time in New York? Oh, I'm so excited. There's so much to
+talk about, so much to learn about each other. Do you play bridge?
+There's a couple down the street, the wife's a Transient and just got
+here today, but I know the husband, who likes to play bridge. Do you
+like music? I'll turn some on."
+
+She was talkative, all right. Soon Simon heard the lilting strains of
+a Strauss waltz. Jane-Marie pirouetted happily about the dining room
+table in three-quarter time and sat down, motioning Simon to sit near
+her and not on the other side. As he adjusted his napkin she leaned her
+head on his shoulder and said, "I like your eyes, darling."
+
+He smiled. "They're close-set."
+
+"They are not. They're very intelligent-looking. I'll bet you're an
+engineer or something. I'll bet you're going to help design that new
+construction project in Brooklyn. Gee, I like your eyes." She gazed up
+at them demurely.
+
+The robot server wheeled in the first course along with a frosted
+bottle of champagne leaning gracefully in a silver chilling urn. Simon
+popped the cork expertly, filled both glasses and raised his. "To us,"
+he said.
+
+"To us, darling. Forever and ever three weeks. I hope you like chopped
+liver salad," Jane-Marie added nervously. "I had no way of knowing, but
+from now on you'll get whatever you like, I promise."
+
+"It's delicious," Simon said, beginning to eat.
+
+Other courses followed. There was jellied consommé, roast, stuffed
+chicken and sweet potato pudding, a salad which Simon tossed with an
+enthusiasm and expertness that Jane-Marie said was a joy to behold,
+dessert of brandied bing cherries, coffee and pie. And a constant
+stream of chatter from Jane-Marie.
+
+"Well," said Simon, patting the bulge at his waistline and sliding his
+belt-clasp an inch or two looser with the comfortable informality only
+a married man can display (and in his own home, thought Simon). "I must
+say that was good."
+
+"I'm so glad you liked it. Do you want to sit around the fire and talk,
+dear?" She flavored the term of endearment once more. "Dear."
+
+The robot server had begun to remove the dishes from the table. Simon
+stood up and was followed by Jane-Marie into the sunken living room,
+where he began to pile wood and kindling on the andirons in the
+raised-hearth fireplace. As she bent to watch him, the _décolleté_
+hostess gown revealed a breathless amount of lovely white skin. "Maybe
+we'll retire after that," Simon said, trying not to sound the way he
+felt, which was more than mildly lecherous.
+
+Jane-Marie smiled a secret, small-girl smile and pulled him down on
+the cushion in front of the hearth, on which a bright fire was now
+crackling. "It's so good to have you home, darling, all to myself. Will
+your work keep you away much? I hope not."
+
+"To tell you the truth, I'm on vacation."
+
+"That _is_ nice," Jane-Marie murmured dreamily. "And flattering, too,
+because you selected me to share your vacation."
+
+"Could it be anyone but you?" Simon said. "As if it could be anyone but
+you." Which was perfectly, beautifully, delightfully true--for three
+weeks. "You married rather young, I see."
+
+Jane-Marie stroked his temples with long fingers. "Oh, now, don't be so
+sure," she smiled. "Maybe I'm older than I look."
+
+"No. You're about twenty. I guess you like marriage."
+
+"I love it. It's too early to tell, but--well, it agrees with me."
+
+"I'm glad."
+
+"Glad of what, darling?"
+
+"That you married early. Come here."
+
+She came and sat in his lap. He blew in her ears and at the short hairs
+on the nape of her neck until she laughed. "I love you," she said. "I
+love you so."
+
+He loved her too. It was right. She was the girl he had selected. But
+a sense of urgency swept over him, not only for the love they would
+consummate as the night grew longer, but for what he hoped to learn
+from her so he could have the name as well as the game--as well as that
+feeling of adventure which sharpened his senses so acutely. He said,
+"Do you ever think of the times before multiple marriage became the
+accepted social institution? Do you ever think of how those people must
+have felt?"
+
+"I knew you were an intellectual!" Jane-Marie cried instead of
+answering his question. "I just knew it. I could see it in your eyes,
+darling. Oh, I do love you."
+
+He kissed her tenderly, then with fire. He could feel the passion
+mounting between them, but tore himself from its grasp. "Don't you ever
+think of it?" he asked again.
+
+"Well, I read a book about it once, Murray's _The Decline of Monogamy_.
+They must have felt simply awful, darling. I mean, I love you, but to
+have to spend all that time, season after season, year after year, with
+the same person would--would drive you crazy. You'd get to know him so
+well, everything he did, the way he thought and all. Oh, with you it's
+different. I could spend forever with you three weeks, but--"
+
+"No, Honey. I mean the others. The outcasts. Those who carried on
+adulterous relationships."
+
+Jane-Marie frowned in thought. He could tell the conversation
+interested her but thought she would have preferred to drop it. Still,
+the conversation was flowing more smoothly than he had dared hope, and
+in the right direction.
+
+"I don't know," Jane-Marie finally admitted. "I suppose they were
+pioneers, sort of. I mean, flaunting social custom the way they did
+because they were willing to fight for a better way of life."
+
+"I agree with you," Simon said. "Sometimes convention restricts you
+and doesn't allow you to live the fullest life. You should then flaunt
+convention by all means, don't you think?"
+
+"I do. I do."
+
+He sighed gratefully. The seed had been planted. He now had to
+cultivate it for three weeks. A word here, a gesture there, a
+suggestion, twenty-one days of marital bliss, of gaining her
+confidence, of impressing her with everything he did.
+
+"Well," he said, "shall we go upstairs?"
+
+He watched the color rise from Jane-Marie's throat and soon suffuse
+her face. "I was thinking Mr. and Mrs. Busby might want to play some
+bridge--"
+
+"There are other nights," he said. He scattered the embers of the
+burning logs with the poker and went into the dining room after the
+bottle of champagne. With Jane-Marie at his side he climbed the stairs.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The shower had stopped. He could hear Jane-Marie humming to herself in
+a nervous falsetto. He didn't know whether to get under the covers or
+not, and finally decided Jane-Marie would be more at ease if he did. He
+had already combed his hair and brushed his teeth.
+
+At last, she came. She was lovely, his wife, in a daring black
+negligee. She stood there in it for a long, wonderful moment, then
+plunged the room into darkness.
+
+You could be a newlywed over and over again, Simon thought happily. You
+could taste the joys of brand new parenthood not once but a hundred
+times. You could see the kids off to school on that memorable first day
+as often as you liked, see your grandchildren that first glorious time
+through the glass window also as often as you wished, or taste many
+times of an old, established relationship which was yet mysteriously
+new, despite the gray hairs and conditioned familiarity.
+
+It was a full life, but something was lacking. Did it make him a
+misfit? Probably, but he had his own life to lead, his own fulfillment
+to achieve, his own strange kinship with the early rebels who had
+blasted monogamy from the pages of social history.
+
+"You'll think this is silly," Jane-Marie whispered in the darkness.
+
+"What's that, dear? What will I think is silly?"
+
+"What I'm going to ask you."
+
+"No I won't. Honest."
+
+"Well--"
+
+"Go on, if it will make you happy." He could sense her presence near
+him.
+
+"Well, it isn't that I don't trust you, but there's so much of it going
+on lately that I thought--"
+
+"What did you think?"
+
+"The--the parting ritual. You know what it's for, darling. A safeguard."
+
+Simon plunged from zenith to nadir in seconds. He would never spend
+those three weeks with Jane-Marie. He would be running again, running
+until he could board the tubeways in anonymity from the basement of
+a Marriage Building in some other city. But it had never happened so
+quickly before.
+
+"Can't it wait for three weeks?" he asked, knowing the request was
+futile.
+
+"Then it's hardly a safeguard for me, just for--for the next one. It's
+just lately that all those misfits have started.... I guess some people
+will never be satisfied."
+
+Her hand touched his hand in darkness. There were finger movements. She
+began to chant meaningless syllables.
+
+This was it, Simon knew in despair. He could not respond. It was a
+simple thing, but people were sworn to absolute secrecy. It was changed
+every few months and he had never been able to learn it.
+
+A sob escaped Jane-Marie's lips. "Simon," she gasped. "Simon, you
+aren't ... you're not doing...."
+
+"No," he said wearily. He sat up quickly in the darkness, and dressed.
+He could hear her reaching for the phone. He stood up and went to her,
+but she turned away.
+
+"Don't you touch me. Go away, leave me alone. Of all the despicable ...
+and I thought ... I almost.... Hello, police? This is Mrs. Jane-Marie
+Paige on Maple Lane. I want to report...."
+
+"Goodbye," he whispered softly.
+
+"I hate you!"
+
+He left quickly, double-timing down Maple Lane between the rows of
+spherical houses. He didn't belong. He was an outlaw, a criminal, a
+maladjusted misfit--or worse. Some people are never satisfied. The
+police failed to understand. To them his type was lazy, shiftless. They
+were drones, parasites who could reap all the advantages of multiple
+life without working a day. They had no one to support.
+
+But that isn't it at all, thought Simon as he ran. He could hear the
+approaching wail of police sirens. He must hurry. Perhaps in Boston
+he would get the one stroke of luck he needed, if the police didn't
+catch him first. It wasn't that he was lazy and lacked the sense of
+responsibility which would make him support a family. Everything was
+too patterned, too set-out-for-you, too prosaic. In his own way he
+courted danger and was hated for it. He sought the spice of an illicit
+relationship which he supposed some people always needed.
+
+He could picture pretty Jane-Marie crying out the whole story to the
+police. "That man--he was a _bachelor_!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Quickie, by Milton Lesser
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58725 ***