t a
big tip and got back on the ferry.

Snow was drifting against brick buildings as Oliver walked into the Old
Port. He decided to stop for a pint. Deweys was busy; people were
packing it in early, finding strength in numbers. "A Guinness," he
ordered, "for this fine March day." Sam set a dark glass, overflowing,
on the bar in front of him. Oliver bent forward and slurped a mouthful.
"You could live on Guinness foam," he said.

"And the occasional piece of cheese," Sam said. Patti Page was singing,
"_I remember the night of The Tennessee Waltz . . . _" Her voice, the
fiddle, the stately waltz told the old story: "_stole my sweetheart
from me . . . _" One way or another, sooner or later, we are all
defeated. Oliver felt a swell of sadness and the beginning of
liberation.

"God, what a song," he said to Mark Barnes, who had come up beside him.

"Classic. How you doing, guy?"

"Hanging in there." More people came in, stamping snow from their
boots. Patti Page gave way to Tom Waits belting out, _Jersey Girl_.
"Another classic," Oliver said. Tragedy was just offstage in _Jersey
Girl_, momentarily held at bay by sex and love and hope. "All downhill
from here, Mark."

"Life is fine, my man."

"What? Must be a new dancer in town. How do you do it, anyway?"

"Innate sensuality," Mark said. "One glance across a crowded room . .
."

"Yeah, right. My rooms are crowded with women in black pants who have
eyes only for each other. Although, I did see a beauty in Becky's this
morning. Had two little girls with her---and a friend."

"What kind of friend?"

"A lady friend, not a black pantser, I'm pretty sure. Francesca, her
name was."

"Francesca? Tall chick? Good looking?"

"I wouldn't call her a chick, exactly. More like a Madonna by
Modigliani."

"Yeah, Francesca. She lives in Cape Elizabeth. I was in a yoga class
with her once."

"I ought to take yoga," Oliver said.

"The ratio is good, man. Francesca. That was years ago. She married
some guy who works for Hannaford's."

"I knew it," Oliver said.

"They can't help it," Mark said. "They have this nesting thing."
Dancers came to Portland, walked around the block a couple of times,
and met Mark. Six to eighteen months later, they married doctors.

"Did you ever think of settling down?" Oliver asked.

"I'm trying, man. Who do you like in the NCAA's? Duke?"

"No way. Robots," Oliver said. "Smug. Bred to win from birth."

"I got a hundred on them." Mark m