"Merry Christmas, Oliver."
It was dark and much colder as they settled into the Volvo and drove home. "What a great party," Jennifer said. "You know, I was talking to Mary. If you're tired of bouncing around, I think you could get a good position at Tom's bank. She said he was looking for someone to come in and learn the ropes, take over as MIS officer."
"Do I look like the officer type?"
"If you don't, no one does. It doesn't have anything to do with height.
You were having fun with Marguerite."
"Yeah, I like her. What's her story?"
"Poor Marguerite, she's had—unfortunate affairs. I really don't know what men see in her. She's awfully skinny."
"Well," Oliver said, "she's sympathetic."
"Too sympathetic," Jennifer said. "She ought to pick some nice guy and get on with it." Get it on, Oliver started to say, but didn't. "It was so nice to see all the children playing," Jennifer continued. "Wouldn't it be wonderful for Emma to have a little brother to play with?" She reached over and rubbed his leg.
"Get on with it, you mean?"
"Oh Sweetums! Of course not! Not like that. But it would be nice, wouldn't it?" She kept her hand on his leg.