“Oh, Sam!”
She snuggled in against my shoulder and began to tremble. I shook her a little. “How about you?”
“Me? Oh, I love you, Sam. I do love you. I’ve loved you ever since—”
“Ever since when?”
I thought she was going to say that she had loved me ever since I took her place in Project Interview; what she said was, “I’ve loved you ever since you slapped me.”
Is that logic?
The driver was cruising slowly east along the Connecticut coast; I had told him just to drive around. I had to wake him up before I could get him to land us in Westport. We went straight to the City Hall.
I stepped up to a counter in the Bureau of Sanctions and Licenses and said to a clerk there, “Is this where we get married?”
“That’s up to you,” he answered. “Hunting licenses on the left, dog licenses on the right, this desk is the happy medium—I hope.” He leered at me.
I don’t like smart boys and the gag was ancient. “Very well,” I said stiffly, “will you oblige by issuing us a license?”
“Sure thing. Everybody ought to get married at least once; that’s what I keep telling my old lady.” He got out a large printed form. “Let’s have your serial numbers.”
We gave them to him. He slid the form into a typer and recorded them. “Now—are either of you married in any other state?” We said that we weren’t; he went on, “You’re sure, now? If you are and don’t tell me, so I can put a rider on this showing the other contracts, this contract ain’t valid.”
We told him again that we weren’t married anywhere. He shrugged and went on, “Term, renewable, or lifetime? If it’s over ten years, the fee is the same as for lifetime; if it’s under six months, you don’t need this; you get the short form from that vendo machine over there by the wall.”
I looked at Mary; she said in a very small voice, “Lifetime.”
The clerk looked surprised. “Lady, are you sure you know what you’re doing? The renewable contract, with the automatic option clause, is just as permanent and you don’t have to go through the courts if you change your mind.”
I said, “You heard the lady! Put it down.”
“Okay, okay—either party, mutual consent, or binding?”
“Binding,” I answered and Mary nodded.
“Binding it is,” he agreed, stroking the typer. “Now we come to the meat of the matter: who pays and how much? And is it salary or endowment?”
I said, “Salary”; I didn’t own enough to set up a fund.
At the same time and in a firm voice Mary said, “Neither.”
The clerk said, “Huh?”
“Neither one,” Mary repeated. “This is not a financial contract.”
The clerk stopped completely, looked at me, and then looked at Mary. “Now, look, lady,” he said reasonably, “don’t be foolish. You heard the gentleman say that he was willing to do the right thing.”
“No.”
“Hadn’t you better talk it over with your lawyer before you go ahead with this? There’s a public communicator out in the hall.”
“No!”
“Well—I’m darned if I see what you need a license for.”
“Neither do I,” Mary told him.
“You mean you don’t want this?”
“No! Put it down the way I told you to. ‘No salary’.”
The clerk looked helpless but bent over the typer again. “I guess that’s all we need,” he said finally. “You’ve kept it simple, I’ll say that for you. ‘Do-you both-solemnly-swear-that-the-above-facts-are-true-to-the-best-of-your-knowledge-and-belief-that-you-aren’t-entering-into-this-agreement-uninfluenced-by-drugs-or-other-illegal-inducements-and-that-there-exists-no-other-covenants-nor-other-legal-impediments-to-the-execution-and-registration-of-the-above-contract?’ ”
We both said that we did and we were and it was and there weren’t. He pulled the form out of the typer. “Let’s have your thumb prints . . . okay; that’ll be ten dollars, including the federal tax.” I paid him and he shoved the form into the copier and threw the switch. “Copies will be mailed to each of you,” he announced, “at your serial-number addresses. Now—what type of ceremony are you looking for? Maybe I can be of help.”
“We don’t want a religious ceremony,” Mary told him and I agreed.
He nodded. “Then I’ve got just what you’re looking for. Old Doctor Chamleigh. He’s completely non-sectarian, best stereo accompaniment in town, all four walls and full orchestra. He gives you the whole works, fertility rites and everything, but dignified. And he tops it off with a fatherly straight-from-the-shoulder word of advice. Makes you feel married.”