Free Matrimony by Joshua Henkin Page A

counseling office extended its hours, so that when Julian walked past at nine at night he would see some classmate huddled over a book of résumés, anxiously contemplating his future. Julian was mildly anxious himself, but Carter, it was obvious, was more so. He kept a calendar on the wall above his bed and he had begun to use that calendar as a countdown to liftoff.
    That night, the four of them were eating dinner at Bamonte’s, where the first Wednesday of every month was Wig Night: everyone who showed up wearing a wig got to eat at half price. Carter, seeing the thatch of dark curls pasted to Julian’s head, said, “Look at Wainwright, he’s wearing a poodle.” Carter’s own wig was bright orange, and he was also wearing oversized clown shoes, which he waved about like flippers.
    “I’m wearing lynx,” Mia said. “Or is it otter?”
    “Watch out for PETA,” Julian said.
    Mia fingered the ropy tendrils. “Actually, it’s pure synthetic. Woolworth’s special, for nine-ninety-nine.”
    Pilar wore a blond wig, and she sat sipping her Coke, saying that if another person asked whether she was Marilyn Monroe, she would have a fit. “It’s not like there aren’t other blondes out there.”
    The waiter gave them the once-over. He was wearing a wig himself, and the effect was of a sandy-haired Rastafarian.
    They chewed silently while Bamonte’s pumped out songs from the jukebox and everyone beneath their wigs had started to sweat. Carter looked pensively at his watch as if he were checking not just the time but the number of days left in college. “All right,” he said, “fess up. What are you guys doing when you graduate?”
    Although the subject preoccupied them, they’d avoided talking about it until now. Even alone, the two couples had been leery of bringing it up. Were they making plans together or apart?
    “I’ve thought about architecture school,” Mia admitted. “Or anthropology.”
    “Mia’s made it through the A’s,” Pilar said.
    Mia laughed. “Sometimes I think I could do almost anything.”
    “What I want to do is nothing,” said Carter.
    Julian said, “I plan to write.”
    “That’s one way of doing nothing,” Carter said.
    Mia’s father wanted her to get a Ph.D.—“He thinks without one you’re not really educated”—and Pilar acknowledged she was considering law school. Mia mentioned the Peace Corps, and Carter said, “What about Wainwright?”
    “Julian can come along. We can do the Peace Corps together.”
    Carter laughed. “Have you ever been camping with Julian? He brings an inflatable mattress.” Carter removed from his bookbag a stack of papers. “Look what I stole from Career Counseling.” It was the Myers Briggs personality test. You answered a series of questions, and depending on your answers you were placed into one of sixteen types, which helped you choose a career.
    “You actually took one of those tests?” Julian said.
    “They’re based on Carl Jung’s typologies,” said Carter. “You’ve read Jung, haven’t you?”
    Now, as if to prove what he thought of career counseling, Carter shredded a page of the Myers Briggs test, leaving a heap of confetti on his pasta plate. But then Mia was saying, “Come on, Carter, try it out on us.” So, over tiramisu and cannolis, Carter read from the remaining pages. “‘Yes or no. You find it difficult to express your feelings.’…‘You often think about humankind and its destiny.’…‘You believe the best decision is one that can be easily changed.’…‘You find it difficult to speak loudly.’…‘You prefer to isolate yourself from outside noises.’…‘You feel involved when watching TV soaps.’…‘You value justice more highly than mercy.’…‘You are almost never late for your appointments.’…‘Your desk, workbench, etc., is usually neat and orderly.’…”
    After every question their voices rang out, and Carter, pen in hand, made a show of writing down what they said, though