CHAPTER 7 ENGAGEMENT?
During that time, and the months that followed their meeting, Oliver did learn – eventually – to pick his battles. Even still, he erupted passionately and loudly when he
thought the occasion, invasion, acquisition, or transition merited his energy. He did get very adept at letting small details of the workday be attended to by her and
attend she did. In the mornings, he would find neat stacks of correspondence to sign, approve, edit or amend. She had everything he needed at his fingertips, either
because she had come in early, stayed late, or both. She never took a day off during the week. Ever. She was never late, was always impeccably dressed, was the
utmost professional with absolutely everyone, held her post firmly with a kid-leather glove. She didn't gossip, she didn't sabotage, she didn't yell or berate. She also
kept her private life private. No one was quite sure what she did with her weekend days off, and she did not share. Well, the Asp knew where she went, but not what
she was doing. He also felt strongly that it was not his place nor was it his business to pry or spy – especially on her. They were respected and beloved friends, and he
was not only loyal to Grace, but as fellow employees of the estate, there was an unspoken code of honor: Days off were nobody's business. There were instances
when she would have the Asp drive her to and pick her up from a concert hall, a restaurant, sometimes from in front of Macy's, always arriving and departing in the
car alone. There were occasions, though, that she had been spotted leaving a restaurant in the presence of a good-looking and well-dressed young man. They parted
ways with a kiss on the cheek, a heartfelt hug.
One day during this time, not yet eighteen months into her employment with the estate, Oliver spotted her from the limousine of a friend and fellow businessman. He
saw her emerge from a restaurant with a young man and an older woman. He thought that they all looked very happy together, Grace was lovely. She was smiling at
the young man. Oliver thought: "I wonder if she's gotten engaged. Maybe she is meeting his mother. Hmmmm." This observation of her in that situation or the
possibility of it made him brood for days. He secretly despised the idea of her being engaged or even with someone at all. Aside from the obvious reason that he
wanted her single, he also dreaded the horrid prospect of having to try – the operative word was 'try' – to recruit someone who was competent enough to take her
place, should she leave after marriage. His thoughts were running away with him, and his anxiety about this possibility ramped up every day. He got especially
nervous if she came into his office looking like she might have something to tell him, and then left without a word about any of it. "Women!" he thought.
About a week after he spotted her from his associate's limo, he heard her on the phone in her office as he was coming over to get a file from her. He heard her say:
"Well, sure. Yes. I will see you then. Tell mother I say hello and I will see her Friday, too." She paused….listening to the other party…she continued: "Yes,
dear….okay…." she laughed…."yes…okay…see you then." She hung up the receiver, still smiling as she reached for a notepad and loaded her typewriter with a sheet of
paper. As she did this, he rounded the entrance to her office, filling her doorway. He had a scowl on his face after hearing that "dear" she had said into the phone. She
looked up at him, a little surprised that he was there. She smiled at him and asked: "What can I do to be helpful, sir?"
He looked at her, then down at his feet, he wanted to confront her about his fears, but at the last moment, he changed his mind and asked: "Oh, yes, uh…I wanted to
get the …letter….for…the contract for the defense department…"
"Yes, I think I have that finished…." She quickly shuffled through the stack of correspondence from that day. She found the letter and handed it to him. He took it
from her, knowing that he did not need to look at it or change a thing. Nonetheless, he took it with a terse "Thank you." He left her office and went back to his desk,
scowling and feeling dumb. He had forgotten entirely about the file he had gone over to her for originally. "Damn it." He said to himself. His fears about her leaving
him and marrying some stranger got the better of him at times, he would let his mind inflate what he saw and he would find himself feeling hurt and a bit mad at her.
How could she do this to him? How would he cope? He sulked and was dour for days. He had asked the Asp for intelligence about whom she was seeing, but he
denied any knowledge of "anything of a personal nature of Miss Farrell, Sir." And he would give his boss the thousand-yard stare and a vague smile. Punjab would
acquiesce no knowledge or "enlightenment about Miss Farrell, Sir.." also giving his boss the thousand-yard stare. Oliver was hitting brick walls. He was not at all
friendly – to her or anyone else. He was not handling the situation that his mind invented very well at all, and she was noticing how agitated he had been lately. She
had seen him upset, but those storms passed quickly – loudly at times, but quickly. This however, was a bit prolonged – his dark mood, he had not been the least bit
warm toward her, in fact he had avoided her if at all possible. She was sure that she was going to get fired. She was sure that he no longer liked her – as silly as that
sounded in her head. She did always feel that they had a rapport and a professional comradery, even the little gifts from overseas, his prior friendliness toward her.
She sat in her office and she worried, too. She was processing these thoughts, along with managing her entire job. She sat at her desk one afternoon. It was a
Thursday during a long and arduous week. He had been a task master of productivity. "My God…." she thought. As she sat and caught her breath, with a fresh stack
of contracts and letters, financial documents and checks, she sipped her tea and contemplated him. Her phone rang. She let it ring twice, picking it up she said:
"Hello, this is Miss Farrell." Pause. She laughed and said, "I know, it sounds silly…especially if you say Miss Farrell…" Pause, listening to other party. "Okay, yes. Mmm
hmm. That is a wonderful idea. Okay. I can be there….yes, I am staying until Sunday…" she was laughing at the other party, truly laughing, she said: "Please, tell me
you are making this up?!" Pause. "Oh my. …well, I think that is what we…yes…okay…I'll call you from …yes….there...at 30th street... on Friday evening. Right. I love
you, too." She hung up the phone still smiling as she jotted down a note on her desk blotter. He had heard the very last part of her phone conversation as he had
walked past her open office door. He stepped past her office at first, but he found himself giving pause. Hearing that "I love you…" really irked him. He was almost
angry again. His first instinct was to turn around and stand in her doorway. He did just that, his brisk walk and abrupt halt at her door made her look up from her
desk, she put down her pencil. She smiled at him, even though he was not returning one. She said: "Can I help you, sir? Did you need something?" She continued to
look at him, not dropping her eyes from his. This unnerved him. He was temporarily struck speechless. His mind searched for the right words, he was able to get to
these out:
He said: "Well, Miss Farrell…I was wondering if we could have a conversation?" She could recognize the wear of worry on his face, his brow setting the mood like a
rain cloud.
He asked: "May I close your door to talk?" She thought to herself: "This is it. I will ask for a letter of reference. I guess I am getting fired. Here we go."
She gave him her full attention: "Yes, sir…of course."
He closed the door quietly behind him. He looked over at her, paced the room, looked at her again, and then stopped in front of her desk. He said: "Maybe it would be
better if I sat down." He sat in the chair in front of her desk, facing her. He sighed and looked visibly upset. She was puzzled and was beginning to feel alarmed. He
shouldn't be experiencing such a hard time with firing an employee. "Even me." She thought to herself.
He began: "Miss Farrell, if you were to, er, that is…" he paused, searching for the words. He got up again. He paced her office again. He stopped and looked out of her
window, he turned around to face her. He took two long strides to the front of her desk and stood directly in front of her. He looked at her and said, quietly: "If you
were to have a significant change in your, uh,…situation…in life…you would give me ample warning, wouldn't you? You wouldn't just up and marry someone and leave
me blindsided, would you?" He looked angry, he was red and he was suddenly breathing hard. She was stunned.
She sputtered in surprise and disbelief: "What? I don't see…..what…where you have gotten this idea?" she stopped and looked at him incredulously. She did not drop
her gaze, in fact, she made it a point to hold his gaze. She said finally: "I'm very confused. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." She lobbed the ball back in his
court for him to provider her with some kind of answer or a clue as to what he was talking about.
He stared back at her as a bead of sweat ran from beside his ear down his neck. He was suddenly really dumbstruck and trying to process exactly why he had made
the decision to come into her office like this, and how he was going to dig himself out of the hole he was in.
She asked: "Sir, is there something that you know that I don't?" She was genuinely asking and just as confused. "Mr. Warbucks, what are you talking about?" She
asked with her palms up. He swallowed as best he could, now that his mouth was completely dry and he was caught in the headlights and beginning to sweat. He
thought to himself: "In for a penny, in for a pound"…and he continued.
He looked at her and said: "I realize this is none of my business, but I have to ask: You are not involved with a young man?" Silence. Her mouth fell open. She said
nothing, she was not sure how to answer or what he was on about. He asked her again, in a clipped tone: "Miss Farrell, are you involved with a young man?
She said: "No, I am not." She looked down from looking at his face to her desk blotter. She suddenly realized why he was there. She smiled a very small grin, amused
by his thinking she was about to marry someone and leave the estate. She thought to herself: "Where has this come from?"
He looked at her, and said: "I am sorry, Miss Farrell. I am an idiot. I was mistaken."
She asked: "Mistaken about what?"
He paused and appeared a little pinker in color than when he had filled her doorway with a scowl minutes earlier. He looked at her, and said:
"I have to confess something. It was accidental and very much by chance. I was not spying on you. But, I saw you by chance from the car of one of my -er –
colleagues. I saw you in Midtown with a young man and an older woman. I assumed, …. that ….he was…your…" his voice trailed off, he felt extremely silly.
"My what?" she asked him.
He looked at her again, and quickly said: "Your, uh, fiancé?"
"My fiancé? Mine? …..interesting….does he have a name?" Oliver suddenly understood just how wrong he was. He had no answer and simply said "I suppose
so..maybe you could tell me?" She looked over at his sheepish face and met his gaze with a smile. She could not refrain from a small laugh as she asked: "Did you
see us in front of a romantic little place called 'Marco's' on 63rd street?"
His face lit up with recognition: "Yes, it was that place, on 63rd." She tapped her pencil on the desk blotter as she smiled at him and said "Mr. Warbucks, the woman is
my mother." His eyes widened and his color rose, he asked: "…and the young man?"
"That is my little brother, Johnny. He is five years younger than me. We are very close. We took our mother out for her birthday to Marco's on 63rd."
There was silence for about 30 seconds, and then he said as he looked at the floor. His face suddenly lit up, he raised a finger in the air and said: "But, just now, I
heard you say… I.. love..you…to someone on the phone. I was walking past, your door was open, I wasn't evesdropping. But, I heard it.." he stopped talking, looking
to her for an answer. She leaned forward and said to him: "That was my mother. We have made plans for Friday. I always tell my mother 'I love you' at every goodbye."
He slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers and he nodded. She suddenly asked him: "Mr. Warbucks, is saying 'I love you' to someone a thing to be upset about?" She
really wanted to know his answer. He said to her: "I am not upset. I am not upset if someone says 'I love you'…its …I didn't want to…lose..er, uh see you, well, go."
She continued to stare at his face as she said to him: "Sir, I have always been direct and honest with you, even as you saw me from your colleague's limo, I had
nothing to hide. Could you be honest with me? Did it bother you to hear me say 'I love you' to someone?"
He looked at her, wide eyed and he replied: "I am being honest with you right now. I feel very foolish. I apologize." They both knew he was being evasive. She
decided not to push their conversation any further, she herself felt like she may have been a little brazen and out of line at that very moment. He looked up at her
after saying this to find her looking at him from her spot, no trace of laughter, only her thoughtful and loving gaze. She said to him: "Don't feel foolish. You had a
pretty good reason to think the worst. I can see how it could be misconstrued." She let the silence fill up her office for a minute. She finally asked him, seriously and
softly: "So, is this why you have been so, um, miserable? Lately?" She smiled at him with pure delight in her eyes. Part of it was her joy about his being so upset at
an imaginary scenario, and part of her delight was knowing that his problem was so utterly and simply solvable. She was simply giddy that he had feelings for her. He
must have. Certainly, right? She was unsure, but this situation had made her feel very wanted by him. That he was so heated up about this made her adore him a
little more. He looked at the floor again and said: "Yes, Miss Farrell, I am embarrassed. Please, forgive me. What a buffoon I am." She laughed and smiled at him
again and said "No offense taken." She leaned back in her chair. She waited until she could feel the return of his previous energy, although when he did get over his
feeling silly about himself, Oliver Warbucks showed himself to her as a humbled man. She could see the return of that person she met at the gala so long ago: he was
a rational and level-headed man - when he was in control of all the details and knew where he was trying to navigate. He was an emotional, frustrated and lost-at-sea
man with a creative imagination when he thought he was out of his depth. His relief in her not being with another man was as if a huge weight that was had been
struggling to carry was lifted off of his shoulders. He looked lighter to her. His head was definitely held higher. He actually smiled at her.
He pushed a bit more, he said: "Miss Farrell...as long as I am making a fool of myself today, could I ask you something else?
She tilted her head, smiling and let out a small laugh. She said: "As long as you're asking, I can only say that if you think you've made a fool of yourself today, you
couldn't be more wrong, and I doubt that whatever you want to ask me now will fulfill that definition of you either." She stopped to look at him, still smiling, she said:
"Please ask me what you want to ask." There was a brief period of silence, during which he looked into her eyes for several seconds. Neither of them looked away.
Quietly, and in a sober tone, he asked: "So, you're not…involved…with anyone?"
She stared at him, not expecting this question. She did not answer right away, instead continued to look at him dreamily, and then quietly answering: "No…I am not."
Her tone and demeanor let him know that she wished it were otherwise. He sat for what seemed like a lifetime in the chair facing her, not quite sure how to extract
himself from situation. His relief was something he was not quite sure what to do with. He wanted to take her in his arms. Instead, he sat across from her and
pondered just how dumb he was, he wondered just how much he had completely messed things up with this lady whom he adored. He was paralyzed by the entire
mental load of the chain of stupid decisions by himself that day. He was unsure of how to even get up without seeming like a fool. For the next few moments, they sat
in silence, looking at each other intently. She thought about his question, and her answer. Fair was fair. She insisted upon equal treatment. She smiled at him as she
broke the silence, asking him quietly: "Could I ask you a question?" He did not drop his gaze and he said: "Please do, Miss Farrell." For the first time, she looked down
at her desk blotter. She looked back up at him after a moment. She asked him: "So, are….are you…um, involved with…anyone?" There was a long pause. He was
clearly not expecting the question, but he thought to himself: "Well, Oliver, you did this to yourself. Fair is fair." He smiled as he stared at her dreamily, not breaking
eye contact and said: "No, I am not." His tone and demeanor let her know that he wished it were otherwise.