A Handful of Time (25 page)

Dr. Barnes’ spirits soared so fast his apology was positively exuberant.

“Oh, forgive me,” he cried. “I just took for granted you were included. Miss Carson, you are the most pure minded…” Dr. Barnes smiled tenderly at his secretary. “Miss Carson, I would never
think
of asking you to marry me.”

Miss Carson sighed deeply to gather herself together and extracted a whispy-skin mask from her purse, to hide the signs of her tears.

“Dr. Barnes,” she sighed again with a happy smile. “To think I doubted you! There are so many… er… ah…
intangibles
in spiritual… er… you know, I mean…” she trailed off in a hasty whisper.

“Yes, indeed,” Dr. Barnes agreed. “Now, I want you to get me that man from ‘Quality Not Quantity’.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Things were back on their old, comfortable basis. Only
more
comfortable, because Dr. Barnes knew where he stood. He was so pleased with Miss Carson he almost fell in love with her, after all. But then, as always, there rose in his mind a picture of Juliette.

“Arise, fair sun,” he murmured.

“Sir?”

“Nothing, Miss Carson.”

“Some of the kids are acting neuro,” Jack told his daddy the next Saturday night, before he pressed the TV button.

“Yes?”

“Yeah. Marvin’s got a black-leather jacket. Bob’s got himself a duck tail hair cut. Straight out of the 50’s. Real gone.” Jack laughed.

“Sometimes,” Dr. Barnes pointed out, “there’s a revival.”

Jack shrugged his shoulders as though some kids were really hopeless. He punched on the TV. The ghost figures on the stage developed solid ectoplasm and the ghost voice reached normal dimensions.

The announcer was the most noncommittal looking person Dr. Barnes had ever seen. He was about 5 feet 8 inches tall, a little on the thin, worried side, had brown hair, receding and vaguely greying, cropped straight around his head on a level with his ears. His teeth were the slightly yellowish, slightly long sort that dentists always say are the least subject to damage. He had small hazel eyes and sparse lashes.

“Cigarettes,” he said tonelessly, “are to smoke.” He lit a Filt R Tip with the habitual gesture of the heavy smoker and went on, like the habitual smoker, hardly aware that he was smoking.

“Froz N Strawberry Shortcake is to eat.”

“The purpose of Whiskoff shaving cream is to facilitate the removal of whiskers.”

“Universal automobiles are to get you from point A to point B. They may be driven by either men or…” he caught himself. This line had obviously been censored at the last minute. “They may be driven by adults.”

Advertising had not been stopped altogether. That really wasn’t to be expected. But this‌—‌maybe this was better. “Cigarettes are to smoke.” What could be more direct? More simple and to the point?

The next few months were known as the Dun Period in advertising. Idea Men with gaunt faces slunk along Madison Avenue and many took to writing verse. There was one man who actually
did
write the novel he had been planning to write all those years.

But this sort of cultural frothing was not available to the average citizen of, say, Caribou, Maine, or Golden Meadow, Louisiana. “How did our forefathers,” they came to ask themselves, “occupy themselves on long, cold nights?”

There were many interesting folk revivals, such as folk dancing, story telling, bundling, the fais do do, and of course, marriage.

Eventually Jack approached Dr. Barnes somewhat sheepishly.

“Er… Dad? What do you… er… do on a date?”

“Whatever seems… er… natural, Jack. Every generation has its own dating habits.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “I guess you’re right. We don’t have movies or road houses or juke box joints. Say, could I have a party over here?”

“Sure. I’d enjoy it.”

“Well… I really didn’t have in mind the older generation.”

“I get it.” Dr. Barnes laughed. “I’ve just worked myself out of my own home. Well, it’s worth it.”

It was not long after that that Reid called. “How’s it going?”

“Births up five per cent over last month. Marriage up twenty-five per cent.”

“Fine. There’s just one thing, Mark.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ve used your name a lot in this. As a government expert. And one of the news commentators last night‌—‌he’s not against us, he’s just contrary‌—‌he said how come
you’re
not married, since you started all this?”

“Me? That’s nobody’s business.”

“You’ve made everybody else’s marriage your business. You’re still young and you’re almost as handsome as I am. Actually, Barnes, why
don’t
you get married?”

Dr. Barnes was silent for a long time. Then he said. “I’ve got my home and my son. Women are fine, but what I
really
enjoy is a good cup of black coffee‌—‌strong as love, black as sin and hot as hell.”