Waiting for the Olympians

“Oh,” I said, thinking about that. “Poor Sam.” And she looked so doleful that I couldn’t help myself, I took her in my arms.

Consolation turned to kissing, and when we had done quite a lot of that she leaned back, smiling at me.

I couldn’t help what I said then, either. It startled me to hear the words come out of my mouth as I said, “Rachel, I wish we could get married.”

She pulled back, looking at me with affection and a little surprised amusement. “Are you proposing to me?”

I was careful of my grammar. “That was a subjunctive, sweet. I said I wished we could get married.”

“I understood that. What I want to know is whether you’re asking me to grant your wish.”

“No - well, hells, yes! But what I wish first is that I had the right to ask you. Sci-rom writers don’t have the most solid financial situation, you know. The way you live here—”

“The way I live here,” she said, “is paid for by the estate I inherited from my father. Getting married won’t take it away.”

“But that’s your estate, my darling. I’ve been poor, but I’ve never been a parasite.”

“You won’t be a parasite,” she said softly, and I realized that she was being careful about her grammar, too.

Which took a lot of willpower on my part. “Rachel,” I said, “I should be hearing from my editor any time now. If this new kind of sci-rom catches on - if it’s as popular as it might be—”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Why,” I said, “then maybe I can actually ask you. But I don’t know that. Marcus probably has it by now, but I don’t know if he’s read it. And then I won’t know his decision till I hear from him. And now, with all the confusion about the Olympians, that might take weeks—”

“Julie,” she said, putting her finger over her lips, “call him up.”

* * * *

The circuits were all busy, but I finally got through - and, because it was well after lunch, Marcus was in his office. More than that, he was quite sober. “Julie, you bastard,” he cried, sounding really furious, “where the hells have you been hiding? I ought to have you whipped.”

But he hadn’t said anything about getting the aediles after me. “Did you have a chance to read Sidewise to a Chrestian World,?” I asked.

“The what? Oh, that thing. Nah. I haven’t even looked at it. I’ll buy it, naturally,” he said. “But what I’m talking about is An Ass’ Olympiad. The censors won’t stop it now, you know. In fact, all I want you to do now is make the Olympians a little dumber, a little nastier - you’ve got a biggie here, Julie! I think we can get a broadcast out of it, even. So when can you get back here to fix it up?”

“Why - well, pretty soon, I guess, only I haven’t checked the hover timetable—”

“Hover, hell! You’re coming back by fast plane - we’ll pick up the tab. And, oh, by the way, we’re doubling your advance. The payment will be in your account this afternoon.”

And ten minutes later, when I unsubjunctively proposed to Rachel, she quickly and unsubjunctively accepted; and the high-speed flight to London takes nine hours, but I was grinning all the way.

Chapter 5 The Way It Is When You’ve Got It Made

To be a freelance writer is to live in a certain kind of ease. Not very easeful financially, maybe, but in a lot of other ways. You don’t have to go to an office every day, you get a lot of satisfaction out of seeing your very own words being read on hovers and trains by total strangers. To be a potentially bestselling writer is a whole order of magnitude different. Marcus put me up in an inn right next to the publishing company’s offices and stood over me while I turned my poor imaginary Olympian into the most doltish, feckless, unlikeable being the universe had ever seen. The more I made the Olympian contemptibly comic, the more Marcus loved it. So did everyone else in the office; so did their affiliates in Kiev and Manahattan and Kalkut and half a dozen other cities all around the world, and he informed me proudly that they were publishing my book simultaneously in all of them. “We’ll be the first ones out, Julie,” he exulted. “It’s going to be a mint! Money? Well, of course you can have more money - you’re in the big-time now!” And, yes, the broadcast studios were interested - interested enough to sign a contract even before I’d finished the revisions; and so were the journals, who came for interviews every minute that Marcus would let me off from correcting the proofs and posing for jacket photographs and speaking to their sales staff; and, all in all, I hardly had a chance to breathe until I was back on the highspeed aircraft to Alexandria and my bride.

Sam had agreed to give the bride away, and he met me at the airpad. He looked older and more tired, but resigned. As we drove to Rachel’s house, where the wedding guests were already beginning to gather, I tried to cheer him up. I had plenty of joy myself; I wanted to share it. So I offered, “At least, now you can get back to your real work.”