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diff --git a/58725-0.txt b/58725-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb78af3 --- /dev/null +++ b/58725-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,607 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58725 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + 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 *** |