QUICKIE
BY MILTON LESSER
Dr. Kinsey, meet Mr. Grover, the amorous
adventurer. Even in a world of polygamous sexual
relations and legal multiple marriages, here is
the nation's champion philanderer!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Simon Grover always felt like a goldfish in a coptercab. The plexiglassbubble afforded full 360 degree vision, but people could also see youfrom the crowded traffic lanes above a big city.
"Hurry," said Simon Grover, a small, energetic man with close-set hazeleyes and a stubborn chin.
"I'm hurrying," the pilot told him with frustrating indifference.
In another few moments he would be safe. He squirmed around and sawanother copter rise above the express lane and close the gap betweenthem. It had never been this close before. The aquamarine roof of theMarriage Building loomed ahead, then swelled up at them. The othercopter buzzed closer.
"Don't see any landing space," the pilot said laconically.
Simon squinted down anxiously. The copters were lined up in neatbut crowded rows on the rooftop, with hardly more than walking spacebetween them.
"Hover," Simon pleaded. "I'll jump."
"I could lose my license."
Simon reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of bills. "This isimportant to me," he said.
The pilot pocketed the money, then swooped down toward the roof.Suspended grotesquely eight feet above the aquamarine surface, bladeswhirling, the coptercab hovered. Simon grunted his thanks and slid backthe door. The other copter was fanning air above them and dropping fastwhen Simon jumped.
His left leg struck the side of a parked cab and threw him off balance.He landed on his shoulder, rolled over and scrambled to his feet.He darted between the rows of copters, thankful for the partialprotection their blades offered him. A parabeam zipped down at the longshadow he cast in the late afternoon sun, but in another moment he hadreached the roof entrance to the Marriage Building and flung himselfinside.
Breathing hard, he smoothed his rumpled clothing with shaking hands.That had been entirely too close. They thought he was fleeing becausehe did not want to work for a living. Rot. If he were ever captured,all the romance would go from his life.
He sauntered down the long, pleasant corridor lined with murals ofdomestic tranquility—family gathered around the dining table, fatherand son raking leaves in the front yard, graceful elderly coupleentertaining children and grandchildren at a merry hearth, younghusband and wife going to bed. He was in no hurry now, for the MarriageBuilding was legal sanctuary.
He passed the long lines of registering Quickies, men filing into oneroom, women into another. He let his glance rove the line of femaleQuickies, wondering if his new wife would come from this group. Theyranged in age from eighteen to about sixty, he guessed, and naturallythey were of all conceivable types. He caught himself in time andstopped looking. It was not considered proper etiquette.
Rounding a turn in the corridor, Simon took the slidestair down onelevel to where Transients registered and attached himself to the end ofa long line of men which was swallowed slowly by a doorway above whichwas the legend:
MARRIAGE COUNSELORS
Simon checked his counterfeit registration papers and was aware o