Chapter 14 fourteen

The letter came in July. As the letter was forwarded from Cambridge to Port Dennis, I suppose I was about a day or two late in getting the news.I ran straight to Gianni's place. At that time, she was leading a group of elementary school students in a game of children's football. I tried to imitate Bogart's accent and said: 1 refers to American hardcore film star Humphrey Bogart (1899-1957).He starred in films such as "Casablanca," which have become classics, and his on-screen tone and gestures have been imitated by generations of Americans. "Let's go."

"Ok?" "Let's go," I said again, and the involuntary air was so obvious that she followed me down to the sea. "Oliver, what's the matter? For God's sake, please tell me, will you?" I continued to walk up the floating pier with a manly step. "Jennifer, come aboard," I ordered, pointing at the boat with my letter-holding hand, but she paid no attention to the letter in my hand. "Oliver, I have to look after the children," she said, but obediently got into the boat. "Oliver, what's going on, are you going to explain it or not?"

By this time we were several hundred yards from shore. "I have something to tell you," I said. "Can't you talk on the shore?" she cried. "No, just can't!" I also shouted.None of us got angry, it was just that the wind was so strong that we couldn't hear without shouting. "I'm going to tell you where no one is around. Look, what's this?" I waved the envelope at her.She immediately recognized the name of the sending unit printed on it. "Oh, Harvard Law School! Did you get expelled?" "Guess again, you happy bastard," I yelled.

"You got the first place in the class!" she guessed. Now I'm embarrassed to tell her. "Not so far. It's third." "Oh," she said. "Only the third?" "Know that still means I'm qualified to edit the Law Review," I shouted at the top of my voice. She sat there as if nothing had happened, showing no expression at all. "My God, Jenny," I was on the verge of tears, "you talk!" "Until I see number one and number two, I don't give an opinion," she said. I looked at her, hoping she couldn't help smiling, and I knew she was being sullen on purpose.

"Say something, Jenny!" I begged her. "I'm leaving. Goodbye," she said, and immediately jumped into the water.I jumped right behind her.When I came back to my senses, both of us were already clinging to the side of the boat, giggling. "Hey," I said with a rather smug quip, "you're diving for me. 1" 1 This sentence in the original text is a pun, and its other meaning is: "You love me too much." "Don't raise your tail too high," she replied. "Isn't it the third place?" "Hey, listen to me, you ghost bitch," I said.

"What's the matter, you bastard?" she replied. "I'm really indebted to you," I said with all my heart. "No, you bastard, no," she replied. "No?" I was a little stunned. "It's all my fault," she said. This evening, we spent twenty-three dollars for a meal of lobster in a fancy restaurant in Yarmouth.Jenny remained silent, not until she found out who the two gentlemen who "beat me" (as she put it) were. It's ridiculous, but I loved her so much that as soon as we got back to Cambridge I went to find out who the first two were.After finding out the details, I was relieved. It turned out that the first one was named Owen Bryceband, a graduate of the City College of New York in the 1964 class. He was a frail scholar wearing glasses, not the type that Zhan admired; Her name is Bella Lando, a girl who graduated from the 164th class of Bryn Marr College.It couldn't have been better, especially since Bella Lando was pretty dainty (for a law student), and I could make up some "plots" to tease Janney about those late nights when the Law Review Such and such happened in the Gannett Building where the editorial department is located.To be honest, it was always late at night during that time, and I often didn't get home until two or three o'clock in the morning.Think, six courses, plus editing the Law Review, and I actually wrote a dissertation (Oliver Barrett 4th: Legal Aid to the Urban Poor- Roxbury, Boston Area Studies," contained in "Harvard Law Review," March 1966, pp. 861-908).

1 A women's college in Pennsylvania. "It's a good piece of writing. It's really good." These are the words of an old editor, Joel Fleischman, but that's all he says over and over again.Frankly, what I was expecting to hear from this guy who was going to be Secretary to Justice Douglas next year was something specific, but that's all he said after reviewing my final draft.Gosh, if even Gianni can tell me that this article is "sharply written, brilliantly written, really brilliant", can't Fleischmann say the same? 1 William Orville Douglas (1898-1980), American jurist, judge of the Federal Supreme Court.

"Fleischmann said it was a good piece, Jen." "My God, did I stay up so late just to hear something like that?" she said. "Did he say anything about your research or your writing?" "No, Jen. He just said it was 'good.'" "Then what are you doing all this time?" I winked at her on purpose. "I have something to work on with Bella Lando," I said. "Oh?" she said. I couldn't figure out the meaning of the tone. "Are you jealous?" I asked bluntly. "No; my thighs are so much better!" she said.

"Can you write a brief?" "Can she make spaghetti gravy?" "Yes," I replied. "As a matter of fact she brought some of them to Gannett House tonight. They say they're as good as your thighs." "Of course," Jenny nodded. "What else do you have to say?" I said. "Does Bella Lando pay your rent?" she asked. "Damn it," I replied, "why don't I always get the upper hand and end it?" "I'm telling you, preppy," said my tender wife, "that's because you'll never get the upper hand."