Chapter 18 18

Three weeks have passed, and I have given up.This Marcy so-and-so (God knows what her last name is) is not going to call.Honestly, how could she be blamed for things?But the "fixed program" of playing tennis and running for the past three weeks made me almost collapsed from exhaustion.What's more, I was always so restless all day long, tapping my fingers on the table, waiting and waiting, but I couldn't wait for the call.Even if I can sit down and do a little business, I don't know what to do.In short, everything has become a mess.The only constant is my state of mind, which is already bad.How can this situation be left unchecked?Therefore, on the day of the three-week anniversary of the "Blood War" at the Wolf Hotel, I secretly made up my mind: Well, this case is over.I'll be back to normal tomorrow.In honor of this memorable moment, I decided to give myself half a day off that afternoon.

"Oliver, where can I find you in case I need you?" Anita asked.I've been asking her if she has a phone these days, and I've been asking all kinds of weird questions, and the phone never comes, and she's almost going crazy. "Who will come to me," I said, and left the office. I left the office and headed home, free from hallucinations from now on.I always felt in a trance as if I saw Marcie ahead.Of course, it turned out that she had misidentified the person. Although she was also a tall, slender blonde, she was not that one.Once I saw a hand-held tennis racket.At that time, I really ran like flying (I was quite energetic at the time), but when I ran over to see it, I was wrong again.Another "Quasi Marcy".New York City is full of "fake Marcis" who are almost indistinguishable from her.

When I got to the Fifties, there was Binningdale's in front of me, so I adjusted my mentality to walk in front of the company as I had done three weeks ago when I wasn't crazy.Be indifferent.Think about serious issues like court decisions, or just think about what to order for dinner.No more wasting money on field reconnaissance, no more going through the company department by department, hoping to catch a glimpse of Marcy in the tennis department or women's lingerie department.Now all I have to do is glance at what's on display in the big window and just stride past. what!I've seen it recently--yesterday, to be exact--but there's something new in the window today.A new product displayed inside caught my attention: the exclusive distribution of the company-Italy just arrived.The latest designs from Emilio Ascarelli.

The wooden mannequin in the window looked like a Yale student, with a cashmere sweater over his straight shoulders.is all black.The words Alfa Romeo are embroidered on the chest.But the advertisement in the window claiming that this exclusive product has only just arrived is a lie.As soon as I arrive, this lie can be debunked immediately.Because by coincidence (or maybe not necessarily a coincidence), I happen to be wearing such a sweater at the moment.I got it a few weeks ago.To be exact, it was three weeks ago. Finally a solid lead!It must have been the one in charge of importing foreign goods who either sold or gave away, and gave Marcy one first.Now I can go straight to her base camp, reveal the evidence on my body, and ask them to tell her whereabouts immediately, and the truth will be revealed as soon as possible.

But wait, Oliver.You said that being obsessed is a thing of the past, and you were right.let's go.The cashmere case is over, let's not care about cashmere! After a few minutes, I arrived at home, and because I planned to go for a run in the park later, I rummaged through a lot of sweatshirts and pants.In the end, everything else was satisfactory, except for the socks. I found three or four pairs of clean ones (I can only say that they were relatively clean), and I had to pick one out of them to wear. At this moment, the phone rang. Let it ring.There is something important to do. The bell kept ringing.Probably Anita got another call from Washington, something trivial!

I picked up the phone and planned to call it back. "Barrett's not here!" I yelled. "Really? Did he go to space to find his client again?" It was Marcy! "Hey..." (Look at your eloquence!) "What are you doing, Oliver?" she said, in a soft voice. "I'm going to go for a run in Central Park," I said. "It's such an unfortunate coincidence. I'd love to run with you. But I did already this morning." Ah, no wonder I haven't seen her running in the afternoon in the past few days. I said "Oh", and quickly added: "That's really unfortunate."

"I called your office just now, and I wanted to ask if you had lunch. But since you're going for a run..." "No, no," I said quickly. "I'm a little hungry, too." There was a moment of silence. "That's good," she said. "Where shall we meet?" I asked. "Will you come and pick me up?" What?I can't believe my ears. "Where are you, Marcy?" "At Binningdale Corporation. Corporate offices on the top floor. Say you're looking for..." "Okay. It's a deal. When is it?" "Don't worry. It's at your convenience. Anyway, I'll wait."

"It's a deal." The two hung up the phone at the same time. I was undecided for a while: Should I rush right away?Or don't be impatient, take a shower and shave first? The compromise solution is: clean up and clean up, and then you might as well hire a taxi to make up for the lost time. Within fifteen minutes I was at Binningdale's again. At first I wanted to run up the stairs quickly, but then I thought it would be out of style to go out the fire door and enter the company office.So I took the elevator up to the top floor. Once I got to the top floor, I was totally in heaven.The carpet in front of him was like a vast stretch of untrodden sand—and it was just that soft.A female secretary was sitting on the shore.Behind the female secretary is the United States.I mean, a map of the United States with lots of little flags showing where the Binningdale company has been established.

"What's the matter, sir?" the female secretary asked. "Uh...something. My name is Barrett..." "So it's sir. Sir is looking for Marcie," she interjected quickly. "Uh... yes." "Please go down the corridor over there," she said, "to the end. I'll let you know first." I quickly turned to that corridor, and once I got there, I told myself secretly: Be sure to take it easy.You have to walk slowly, not run.Go as slowly as possible. (I just wish my heartbeat would slow down too.) This corridor is really like a tunnel, richly decorated and airtight.Is it over?Anyway, as we walked all the way, the owners of the rooms seemed to be no small people.

First pass is the office of William Ashworth (General Manager, Commodities). Next up is Arnold H. Sendell, Treasurer. Next up is Stephen Nichols Jr., First Vice President. The corridor finally came to an end, and the front suddenly opened up.It turned out that there was still a lot of space here, and I saw two secretaries sitting in front of me. As I walked past, a door opened behind the secretary. It was her at the door. I stopped. Marcy looked at me and I looked at her.I can't think of anything suitable to say. "Come in," she said (her composure was clearly better than mine).

I will go in with her.The rooms inside are both spacious and refined. There was no one else in the room. Only then did I realize why she was always alone. Finally she spoke. "It's been a rough three weeks." "From a business point of view, I'm afraid it may not be possible," I said back to her. "In order to come to you, I have to buy things here, and I have lost all my money." Marcy smiled. I thought I should apologize, so I said, "You see, it's all my fault: I was a little too reckless." "I also have a responsibility to add fuel to the fire," she said. "I also have a taste of mystification." But now the mystery has been solved, and all the mysteries that have been played out have been wiped out. "Actually you're not a Binningdale employee at all," I said. "It should be said that all the people in the company work for you." She nodded.It seems a little embarrassed. "I should have told you sooner," Marcy said. "It's nothing. I understand now." When she heard that, she seemed greatly relieved. "Hey, Marcie, you don't know. I only know about this strange disease. Being rich, there is always a ghost in your heart who asks you: 'They like me, is it someone who likes me? , or like my money?' Does that voice sound familiar to you?" I looked at her. "A little bit," she said. I really want to say a few more words.For example, ouch, you are so beautiful.Look at how clever you are.There are thousands of good things about you, and anyone who sees them will fall in love with you.and so on.But I can't say it.I can't say it yet. But someone has to take the initiative.So I did my part. "Let's go for a walk," I said. She nodded, rummaged in a top drawer of her desk, found a key, and tossed it to me. "Just stop downstairs," she said. "You really let me drive?" I was taken aback, but of course I was quite happy in my heart.She smiled and nodded in agreement. "But you'd better watch out. Mine's as delicate as yours."