Chapter 7
An accident of seating had made Ferris D'Orr one of the leading lights in his field.
Ferris D'Orr was in metals. Some who could make that claim speculated in gold or platinum, others in silver. Ferris D'Orr was in titanium. He didn't buy it, sell it, or trade it. He worked it. He was, at age twenty-four, one of the leading metallurgists in a field where practical application, not scarcity, created value.
As he tooled his silver-gray BMW into the parking lot of Titanic Titanium Technologies, in Falls Church, Virginia, Ferris D'Orr thought again of that portentous day when it had all begun.
D'Orr had been a high-school student, and not a very good one incidentally, dating Dorinda Dommichi, the daughter of a dentist who thought Ferris was a likable enough fellow, but not much more. That was because Ferris lacked ambition. Totally. He had no plans for college, no particular career direction, and a vague hope of winning the state lottery.
Ferris also had hopes of marrying Dorinda. If for no other reason than that her folks had money. Ferris liked money.
It had all come crashing down one night on the front seat of Ferris' gas-guzzling Chrysler. Ferris had decided that it was time that his relationship with Dorinda, in his words, "ascend to a new plateau of intimacy."
"Okay," said Dorinda, not exactly understanding, but liking the sound of the words.
"Excellent," said Ferris, pulling her sweater up over her head.
"What are you doing?" asked Darinda.
"We're ascending. Remember?"
"Then why are you pushing me down on the seat?"
"How do you unlock this thing?" Ferris asked, tugging on her bra strap.
"Try the front."
"That's where I'm headed. Your front."
"I mean it unlocks in front."
"Oh. Why didn't you say so?"
It had not been the exciting, pleasurable experience Ferris D'Orr had always dreamed of. The front seat was too cramped. After Ferris got one leg tangled in the steering wheel, they tried the back seat.
"That's better," Ferris grunted. He was sweating. It seemed like a lot more work than he expected.
"This is icky," said Dorinda, her brows knitting.
"Give it time. We're just getting started."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Ferris was done.
"That's it?" asked Dorinda in a disappointed voice.
"Wasn't it wonderful?" asked Ferris, dreamy-eyed.
"It was icky. Let's go see a movie and forget this ever happened."
"Dorinda, I love you," Ferris said, taking Dorinda in his arms. And in his passion, he spilled his greatest secret. "I want to marry you."
"Maybe," said Dorinda. "I'll have to ask my father first. "
"My mother might object too," said Ferris. "She's got some crazy idea of me marrying a nice Jewish girl."
"How come?" Dorinda asked, closing her jeans.
"My mother is Jewish. But I'm not."
"That's nice," said Dorinda.
"I'm only telling you this because I don't want any secrets between us now. Not after tonight. Promise that this will be our little secret?"
"I promise," said Dorinda, who at breakfast the next morning asked her father a simple question.
"What's Jewish?"
"A Person who is a Jew is Jewish. It's a religion. You've heard Father Malone mention them at Mass."
"Oh," said Dorinda, who skied in the winter, sailed in the summer, and rode horses the rest of the year, but otherwise didn't get around much. "I thought they only existed in the Bible. Like Pharisees."
"Why do you ask?" said Dorinda's mother.
"Because Ferris said he wasn't one."
"Of course not. He goes to church with us, doesn't he?"
"But his mother is, though."
Mrs. Dommichi dropped her coffee. Dr. Dommichi coughed violently.
"When did he tell you this?" asked Dr. Dommichi casually.
"After," said Dorinda, buttering a muffin.
"After what'?"
"After we ascended the new plateau of intimacy." Ferris D'Orr noticed a definite coolness in the Dommichi family's attitude toward him the next time he happened to drop in at suppertime. At first, he thought it was something he had said, but when they stopped inviting him on the weekly family boat outings, he knew he was in deep trouble.
He asked Dorinda what was wrong one night while she was resisting his attempts to unclasp her bra.
"My dad says you're a Jew."
Ferris stopped. "You told him!"
"Of course."