The Marital Corporation Ch 10

Synopsis: Connie and Peter have decided to form a law partnership, and have been looking for suitable office space. Doc has come to dinner, and Peter just told Marge he had been fired.

Chapter Ten

After Doc left, Marge and Peter talked well into the morning hours. He told her about his summary dismissal. He also told her about Connie's offer, and their inspection of the empty offices in the Dexter Horton building. Peter tried to put this prospective partnership in a positive light.

Marge abruptly changed course. "You didn't tell me Doc was so good looking and so sexy!"

Peter wasn't amused. "Marge! The man's quite possibly old enough to be your grandfather. Use your head. What I said about me and the people I work with goes double for the people involved in my campaign."

She looked pained, so Peter quickly added, "Look. You know that my opponents would like nothing better than to nail my balls to a stump, hand me a rusty fish knife, and set the stump on fire. Right now, my family corporation idea is merely an abstraction that annoys the over zealous, but if they ever caught you fucking the old man," he smiled at the ludicrous picture that idea presented, "we'd most likely have to leave the country."

Marge nodded. "You're right," she sighed, "but in the meantime, you ought to let Gordon know as soon as possible what's happened. As far as your new partnership is concerned, by all means, go for it."

Peter didn't need to call Gordon. Although it was nearly midnight, the telephone in his study rang. Peter picked up the receiver. It was Gordon.

"Hey, Pete, I hear things didn't turn out well."

"Not well at all," Peter said. "Bad news travels fast."

"What're you going to do?"

"I've just about decided to set up a private practice with a co-worker," Peter replied.

"That sounds like a good idea," Gordon said. "Maybe we can throw some business your way. In the meantime, is our trip to San Francisco still on?"

"Sure, but I may need to ask a favor."

"Ask away," Gordon said.

"Do you suppose Anne would be willing to take Marge under her wing while we're gone? I'm getting some serious heat from local homophobes, and my campaign manager suggested this evening that it might be just as well to get her out of sight while we're gone."

"I'll ask her, but I'm certain it'll be OK."

Peter said, "By the way, why don't you guys plan on spending Saturday night with us? You and I have some serious planning to do."

"I hear you, partner. Let me check with Anne."

Saturday morning, Connie called Peter to ask if he had discussed their possible partnership with Marge, and if so, about her reaction. When Peter told her that Marge thought it was a great idea, Connie asked to speak to Marge.

Their conversation lasted a very long time. Marge had a smug smile and a knowing gleam in her eye after she hung up the phone. "I'm not sure, but I think I may have locked you into your partnership," she said. "Connie says she has $13,000 to invest. If Robbins gives you the golden parachute he promised, you should be able to match her. Your combined investment should cover the overhead for a few months. I could come down and act as your receptionist. It's too bad I can't type; you'd have to hire a public stenographer or do your own typing for the time being."

Peter knew their conversation had covered much more ground than that, and he was curious about it, but he also knew he'd have to wait. Marge was having too much fun being coy and mysterious. He found out later that afternoon.

It was a hot summer day. Peter had finished mowing the lawn, and had settled down under a beach umbrella in the back yard with a cold beer, enjoying their eagle's eye view of the boat traffic on Lake Union, when Marge called from the house, "Pete, we have company!"

Connie was standing in the middle of the living room staring out the window when Peter entered the room. This was the first time he had seen her wearing anything other than the severe business clothes she wore to the office, and she looked very feminine in her tailored slacks. She wore open toed sandals on her slender feet. A bright kerchief matching her blouse covered her thick auburn hair.

"Look who's here," Marge said unnecessarily.

Peter shook hands with Connie. "What brings you to Queen Anne?" he asked.

"I can't get over your view," she said. "It's really magnificent."

"We think so, too," Peter replied. "Take the chair by the window; we can talk while you enjoy it. I take it you and Marge have introduced yourselves?"

Connie laughed. "We did that this morning," she said. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't suffering buyer's remorse, or were thinking of accepting a better offer." She turned to Marge. "Did you tell Pete about our conversation?"

Marge shook her head.

"He's really a first rate lawyer," Connie added as though he weren't in the room. "I know we'll make a dynamite team."

Marge smiled and said complacently, "Pete's very good at most things. I'm glad you appreciate him."

Peter assured Connie that he hadn't received a better offer, and that he still thought the firm of Baylis and Marco was a good idea. "I have a small amount of cash that I could contribute," he added.

Connie nodded. "I already know about that," she said, "but what about clients?"

Peter said, "My boating partner happens to be CEO of NetSoft, a new software firm over in Bellevue. I told him what had happened, and he offered to give us some of his business. That will depend. of course, on his house counsel."

Connie raised her eyebrows and said, "I'm representing one of Boeing's major contractors in a copyright infringement cause of action against the South Korean government. I'm sure they'll follow me to our new firm. Of course these kinds of suits sometimes take years to resolve, but if I win, I'm sure it will draw piracy tort claims against other Asian governments."

For a man recently out of work, Peter was beginning to feel remarkably chipper, but one major concern remained. "Connie," he said, "I have no doubt that eventually we'll do better in our partnership than we did working for Marty, but frankly, I'm worried, now, whether in the short run my political activities may be detri- mental. In other words, I owe it to both of you to put my political career on the table. I'd appreciate your honest appraisal." Then he told her about Doc's alarming concerns.

Connie nodded somberly. "I agree, Pete. It's something we have to consider, but who knows? It may turn out to be beneficial. We're in a competitive business, but remember, most of our competitors were trained as conservators of wealth. They all know the rule against perpetuities, but few of them can convincingly recite the Ten Commandments. Hopefully, we will attract a different, more interesting clientele; perhaps not as well off, but sufficiently well heeled to keep us in business."

Peter shook his head doubtfully. "Obviously, you haven't been reading my mail. On the other hand, although the idea at first seems bizarre, I'd really like to see it through. It looks like I'm beginning to believe my own propaganda."

"There's something else we should talk about, and now is probably as good a time to do it as any," Peter added. "Just to clear the air."

Connie looked blankly at him for a moment. She glanced quickly at Marge, but receiving no help, turned back to him. "What's that?" she asked.

"Well, you're an attractive woman," Peter said, "and God knows I'm not immune to attractive women." Peter paused and made a helpless chopping gesture with his right hand. "I'm probably talking out of turn, but frankly, I think we should make a conscious effort to keep our relationship on a strictly platonic level. That way, we can focus on developing our professional relationship without the inevitable emotional stresses a more intimate relationship might bring."

Connie's face colored and she looked at Peter in astonishment. "Peter Baylis! What sort of person do you think I am? Frankly, I'm shocked that you would even say such a thing, especially in front of your lovely wife!" Turning to Marge, she added, "I don't know you, and I hardly know what to say. I hope you don't think that there has ever been anything between us . . ."

Marge laughed easily. "Pete isn't always the soul of tact," she said, "but he means well. I'm not threatened by his relations with other people, and he feels the same way about my friendships."

Connie's mouth dropped slightly open, and her face flushed again. "I . . . I didn't mean to . . ."

Marge silenced her by holding up her hand. "I know this probably wouldn't work for most people; they'd rather do without. But Pete and I are determined to live life to the fullest. We long ago discovered that no matter how hard we tried, neither of us could possibly meet, let alone satisfy, all the needs and desires of the other."

Connie started to say something, but Marge silenced her by holding up her hand. "Let me finish," she continued. "I happen to enjoy classical music; Pete's tastes run more to rock and roll. Why should he object if I indulge my interest by attending a concert? Does it matter that my preferred partner is a man named Bill Lincoln with whom I share season tickets at the Seattle Symphony?"

"But what if this innocent interest should lead to something more intimate?" Connie asked.

"What if it does?" Marge countered. "What if, for instance, instead of coming straight home from the concert, I were to spend an hour or two with Bill in his apartment sipping wine and discussing our mutual interest? Would that be such a bad thing?"

Peter couldn't read Connie's expression. It was frozen in a professional congeniality that revealed nothing but encouraged further disclosure. "How would Pete feel knowing you were in this man's apartment?"

"Would it matter?"

"I should certainly think so," Connie responded.

"Why? Does my having a good time deprive him of anything?"

"No, I suppose not," Connie said slowly. Not when you put it that way. "Of course, Pete would have to be pretty broad-minded . . ."

"Especially if he knew that while Bill and I were sipping that wine we were lying nude in his bed?"

Connie flushed at the graphic picture Marge painted. "Oh, I wasn't thinking that at all," she protested.

Marge laughed again. "Well then," she said, "you don't have as nearly as much imagination as I gave you credit for. What the hell else did you think we might be doing?"

Connie's color deepened as her embarrassment became more acute. She turned helplessly to Peter. "I'm sorry I led us into this conversation," she said. "This must be awkward for you."

Peter smiled reassuringly. "Not at all," he said. "The only difference between us and many of our friends, even some swingers we know, is that we are learning how to maximize our lives by realizing, and believing, that it is actually immoral and certainly unethical for one person to try to own or control another. The flip side of that, of course, is that this arrangement can work only if we are totally honest with each other."

"You mean you accept the idea that Marge apparently sleeps with this Lincoln fellow?"

"Sure, why not? She gets something out of it I can't give her, and what the hell? It doesn't take anything away from me. I feel the same way about her devotion to flea markets. Why should she be deprived of something she enjoys, simply because I wouldn't go to one if my life depended on it. She has a regular escort, a nice guy named Sam. They go a couple of times a month. I don't know whether she's screwing him; it's none of my business. Anyhow, the subject has never come up."

Marge winked at Connie. "Of course, I am," she said confidentially. "We have to be careful, though; his wife isn't as nearly as understanding as Pete."

There was a long silence while Connie digested this startling information. Peter studied her face, searching for clues. He was concerned that she might change her mind about their potential partnership.

Connie stared thoughtfully at Marge. "You two are a pair of sexual anarchists," she said softly. "I've never heard such crazy ideas in my life! What if everyone had your attitude, or lived the way you say you do?"

"I expect the world would be a safer, saner place," Peter said. "Think about it. If the quaint notion that one person can own, or at least control another were abolished, we would all lead richer, more fulfilling lives."

"In some Utopian La-La land, perhaps," Connie said caustically, "but never in this world. However, I'm glad we had this conversation; it helps me understand what makes Pete tick -- and I know now where some of his more radical political ideas come from."

Peter still felt uneasy. "Does knowing this about us cause you concern about our business arrangements?" he asked.

She smiled. "Not a bit, partner," she said. "Anyone who can be as honest about their sex lives as you two would be highly unlikely to lie about anything else. Nothing in the world is worse than a partner you can't trust." Connie's expression softened. She took Peter's hand and added gently, "While I can't say much for your judgment in some things, I know I can trust you. By the way, I have a little surprise for you, if Marge hasn't already spilled the beans." Marge shook her head vigorously.

Peter waited to hear the big surprise.

"I signed the lease on our offices this morning after I talked with Marge. I hope you don't mind."

He felt an instant flush of annoyance, which quickly became a feeling of giddy exhilaration. "That's great!" he exclaimed. Impul- sively, he threw his arms around Connie and squeezed her in a tight hug.

Connie flushed slightly, and put her hands on his arms to extricate herself. Then she looked at her watch. "Damn, the time's getting away from me. I have an appointment this afternoon." She turned to Marge, "Thanks for having me up here, and I hope I didn't embarrass you . . ."

As an answer, Marge held her arms open. Connie stepped forward, and the women embraced. Then, stepping back, Connie flashed a smile at Peter. "I've really got to be going."

Peter led her to the door, gave her a more brotherly hug, and watched her walk to her little Saturn.

"You mean to tell me you've been working with that woman all this time and didn't once try to score?"

Peter nodded. He was still trying to grasp the idea that although it was less than 24 hours since his dismissal, he was already in a law practice -- such as it was -- with a lovely and highly successful partner. "I meant what I said about getting involved with people I work with," he said.

"And it didn't trouble you, what I said about Bill Lincoln? Or Sam?"

"I knew about Bill, but were you telling us the truth about Sam?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You weren't saying those things to shock Connie?"

"Sure. I wanted to shock her, but they're also true."

Peter felt a familiar stirring in his groin at the mental picture of his naked wife in bed with an equally naked Bill Lincoln. "The thought of you screwing Bill Lincoln is getting me excited," he said.

Marge grinned her wicked little gamine smile, and gave him a sideways look. "I'd take you upstairs and tell you all about the last concert we went to," she said, "but if I did, Anne would be a very disappointed girl tonight. Don't forget they're coming over this evening."

Peter reluctantly nodded and sighed. "You're right; I wasn't thinking." Ruefully, he shook his head. Unlike a 20 year old like Kenny, a man in his 50s is obliged to plan ahead.

Although he hadn't said anything to Marge, Peter wasn't even sure whether Anne would come to dinner following Gordon's description of her surprising reaction to the newspaper article about family corporations. But both Schaefers were standing on the porch when Peter answered the doorbell.

Anne apparently was unaware how candid her husband had been. She was dressed in her usual seductive manner; this evening, she wore an off-the-shoulder wrap-around dress that revealing nothing but promised much. It was cut on a bias so the skirt fell below her knees on one side, and rose to mid-thigh on the opposite side.

Gordon wore a sport jacket and slacks. Peter was glad to see he also wore a pair of soft leather boat shoes. He carried a small overnight bag.

At dinner, Gordon reported a conversation he had had with his house counsel, a man named Bartlett. They had decided to put Baylis and Marco on retainer. They were to do some routine contract preparation work, program reviews, and the leg work on an important copyright infringement suit.

After dinner, Gordon and Peter reviewed the work Cap Bowker was supervising, and the general provisions for the trip they were planning to make. Peter realized, by this time, that the passage north from San Francisco might require another week. By the time they completed their planning, Peter had the beginnings of a bad headache, and physically felt very tired. Sex was the last thing he wanted or needed.

Although Gordon was 17 years Peter's junior, his face was gray with fatigue when they finally called it a night and stumbled up the stairs. Gordon automatically opened the door to the master bedroom, where he would spend the night with Marge, while Peter turned left into the new guest bedroom and Anne's sleeping form.

The next morning, when Peter woke, the other side of the bed was empty. He pulled on his robe and followed the delicious aroma of freshly perked coffee downstairs. He stood quietly in the doorway watching Anne move around the kitchen, stirring waffle batter and heating syrup, frying bacon and pouring tomato juice. He wished he had the ability to read her mind.

She wore a shorty night gown. "Hi," Peter said as he walked up behind her, put his arms around her, cupping her pliant breasts, and kissed her neck. "I'm sorry about last night; I was just too tired to trot."

Anne leaned back against him, and placed her hands over his. "There's always the next time, lover," she said, softly. "Don't worry about it."

Peter kissed that warm spot on her neck again. "Maybe the four of us could have a little party in our favorite cove on Bainbridge Island," he said.

She shrugged. "We'll see," she said. She didn't seem excited by the idea.

"Look," Peter said, "I said I was sorry I didn't wake you last night, if that's troubling you."

"Oh, I don't know what the matter is," she replied. "Sometimes, frankly, I think screwing around like this is more trouble than it's worth."

She turned to face Peter, and gently put her arms around his neck. Then she leaned back and stared thoughtfully into his eyes. "Can you honestly say you have real feelings for me? Because if you do, I'm going to ask you to do something that's very important to me."

"Of course, I have feelings. But I can't quantify them," Peter said. "How about you?"

"I think I'm falling in love with you, Pete," she whispered, "and it scares me."

"Why?"

"For one thing, I'm beginning to hate the idea of you screwing other women. Jesus, I'm even becoming jealous of Marge!"

"What about your `other interests'?" Peter asked.

"That's different."

"Can you explain the difference?"

Anne silently nibbled on her lower lip for a moment before she quietly said, "God damn you, Pete Baylis, there is no difference, and you know it!"

"I didn't think so," Peter said smugly.

"Well," Anne continued, seeking to regain the momentum, "to tell you the truth, I can't say I'm thrilled about your peculiar friends in Portage Bay, either. Or some of this weird stuff you're putting in the papers these days. Please help me understand. It's very important, Pete."

Peter was standing with his back to the doorway, so neither of them saw Gordon enter the kitchen. "Where are the coffee cups?" he asked.