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The Rural Voice, 1977-11, Page 27The party was going beautifully. I started celebrating early and by 10 was well on my way to the subliminal reaches. I spotted the former big man of my class, a combination bon vivant and Einstein, who'd singlehandedly destroyed my whole vision of top students as thick -goggled, pimply hermits. He had everything: high marks, good looks, expensive clothes, a rich father, charm and the only girl in the college I ever really fell for. But that night good old Walter looked different. I could hardly believe it. His hair was a little ruffled. His pants showed signs of little creases. His tie didn't have that crisp knot it used to. And his shirt, his shirt even looked a smidgen soiled. I decided it could mean only one of two things: Walter's wife was a flop as a housekeeper (but that couldn't be because Walter could afford to hire a maid anyway) or he was actually having to work like the rest of us with his own two hands. As much pity as 1 felt for my old dear friend I couldn't resist the chance to egg him a little with my own recent success. "Walter dear boy. How are you?" "Roberts old man." There are two things I thoroughly detest, one is being Called "old man" and the other is being called by my last name. "Here, have a drink." I took it. somewhat guiltily at taking free drinks from a man in as obviously poor financial condition as this. "I'm having a little celebration tonight" he continued. "Maybe you've heard. 1 was just appointed editor of the Globe today. I just came from the office as a matter of fact and didn't even have a chance to change." My mouth was open and it wasn't to swallow the drink. I choked out my congratualations and quickly looked for a crack to cray.I into. I broke off the conversation as quickly as possible and turned to leave, my face one shade greener than the olive in my martini. 1 turned and walked straight into trouble. or more precisely Max. "Tony old man." Oh my God. I thought. Not another one. "He -hello Max." My voice was a trifle shaky. "And what are you doing these days?" 1 told him that I was writing and living in the country and about niy wife. Then he told me about his wonderful job, and his wife and his kids and about the wonderful new computer he was designing. When he started explaining how the resistors were added by transistors I knew something had to be done. "Well. look Max, I've simply got to run. It's been great seeing you again." and then 1 said it. Maybe it was the drink. maybe it was the shock with Walter, maybe it was just my darn old desire to be polite. "Say if you are ever up our way drop in or bring the wife and kids up some weekend." "Sure thing. I might just do that. See you." 1 don't remember feeling frightened at his answer. After all it was just one of those everyday things you say to old friends just as my invitation was. No one ever took you up. Besides, if they did what was one weekend? 1 must have forgotten a lot about Max. The rest of the party went soaringly. My happiness at escaping Max so easily went along with my elation from the afternoon and a magic liquid ingredient to make the whole world look rosy, and a little unsteady. The next morning my stomach had a feeling like the bird of paradise was doing the watusi on the left side of my liver but my dear wife managed to patch me up and we went shopping and then to a show that night. Sunday night as we headed back to our quiet abode I had nothing but pleasant memories of the weekend. Back home things didn't go so well. The publisher wanted ten chapters in a month. I had five done. Those, 1 had done in only two weeks. But now that I was under pressure things didn't flow so smoothly. After two days of coming in to find the study floor littered with crumpled paper Marion bought a bigger waste basket. By eleven o'clock on the third day it was overflowing too. The more I hurried the less I was able to do to my own, satisfaction. The Friday evening of the last weekend of the month I was sweating over the beginning of the ninth chapter. Meanwhile, in the rest of the house things weren't going well ether. Marion was learning what it was really like to be married to a writer. The second-hand refrigerator was sputtering. The bottom burner in the oven just lay there like a'cold fish when the switch was turned on. Of course with the book and all I hadn't had time to finish the home -built stereo set either so she couldn't even use that to keep her mind off her troubles. We were on the verge of mental breakdown, physical exhaustion and divorce by that Friday night. Marion, after two patient weeks, had threatened never to speak to me again if 1 didn't stop long enough to fix some of the breakdowns. I said ibat was fine because I needed the quiet to work anyway. Supper was cold bologna sandwiches and instant coffee because she refused to cook anything until the stove was fixed. We were sitting in the dining room when through the window we saw the car turn in. Actually it was a station wagon and we were sitting there trying to imagine who on earth it could be. It looked mighty full. We didn't know anyone with that many kids. I followed Marion out the door just as the car pulled to a halt. The driver got out and my heart dropped. "I told you I might take you up" he beamed with a mouth so full of white teeth that he could have been a walking toothpaste commercial. "How are you old man?" You must say I gave it my best. "Well I' iax, how are you? Nice of you to drop in." "We had quite a time finding you" he admitted. "You people sure like to live back in the woods, don't you?" Not far enough, I thought but instead 1 manag' d "Well we like the peace and quiet." "Come in, won't you?" Marion invited as I scowled at her. For her part she didn't look too happy at the prospect of entertaining company with a disaster area for a kitchen but her politeness wouldn't let it show. So they took her offer. First Max got out, then his wife, then one, two, three, four, five, six little products of Max's inventiveness. "Big families are a family tradition" he said with another of those big grins as he saw my lower jaw collapse. "How long have you been married?" Marion asked Max's wife. "Seven years." It was Marion's turn to have trouble with her jaw. We sat in the livingroom chatting about the weather and all those topics that people who don't really know each other use to try to start a conversation. Meanwhile the kids began to undo what three years of hard work had managed tc make a respectable home. It wasn't that they were bad kids, just that there were so many that Max couldn't keep track of them all. After about two hours I finally found the courage. "took Max, I don't want to be a bad host, but I've got two chapters of a book that have to be done by Monday night or I lose the most important contract of my life. So..." "Oh that's all right" he interupted. "We can get along by ourselves. We brought our tent along so the kids can sleep out in the yard and we'll manage okay." He beamed. His wife beamed back. I managed a weak smile. A tear trickled down Marion's cheek. Max and I set up the tent and the kids were finally bedded down about nine -thirty although it took them quite a while to get to sleep. A couple of hours later the rest of us went to bed too. As soon as the bedroom door closed I could see the strange look on Marion's face. "Yes, I know" I said. "I don't know how I'm going to finish that work with them here. We can't afford to lose that offer." "That offer" she exploded. "The publisher might wait. But how the devil am I supposed to feed all these people with a refrigerator that sounds like it has indigestion and a stove that is colder than the refrigerator. "Look, dear. If I make this deadline I can buy you a new stove and refrigerator. If I don't we might have to forget about eating altogether." We glared at each other until we shut out the lights. She lay as far on the other side of the bed as she could without falling off. Ten minutes later I apologized. "But what can I do?" "Oh. I don't know. You pick the craziest friends." THE RURAL VOICE/NOVEMBER 1977. PG.