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favorites and, judging by her rapt attention, Karen's too. During the

third movement with its moving, haunting cello melody, he reached out,

putting a hand over one of Karen's. As she turned her head, he saw her

eyes were wet with tears.

At last the music finished to sustained applause in which Nim joined

-"Please! For both of us," Karen urged him-and house lights went up for

the intermission.

While others left their seats to promenade, Nim and Karen remained where

they were. Both were briefly silent, then she said, "If you like, you can

answer my question now."

He had no need to ask which question and, sighing, said, "I suppose

nothing ever stays the same."

"We're foolish if we expect it to," Karen acknowledged, "and I want you

to know I never did. Oh, it's nice to dream sometimes, to long for the

impossible and want everything good to last, but one thing I've learned

is to be a realist. Be honest with me, Nimrod. What happened? What

changed between last time and now?"

It was then he told her, Told her about Ruth, the invading malignancv

which threatened her life, and how-because of it-she and Nim bad found

their way again, which for a while tbev had lost.

Karen listened in silence. Then she said, "I knew the moment I saw you

tonight that there was something different, something important and

personal. Now that I know why, I'm glad for vou in one way, and sad-of

course-in another, especially for your wife."

"We may get lucky," he said.

"I hope so. Some people do."

The orchestra was filing in for the concert's second half. Others in the

audience were resuming their seats.

Karen said quietly, "We mustn't be lovers anv more, vou and me. It

wouldn't be fair, or right. But I hope we'll go on being friends, and

that sometimes I'll see vou."

He touched her hand again, and managed to say, "Friends, alwavs," before

the music started.

On the homeward journey they were quieter than when thev came.

Josie, too, seemed to sense the change, and said little. She bad met them

outside with Humperdinck, having been to visit friends wbile Nim and

Karen were in the Palace of Arts.

After a while, again turning around in the front seat to face Karen, Nim

said, "Earlier on, you told me you were worried about your father. You

didn't want to talk about it. Do vou now?"

"I don't mind," Karen said. "Except there isn't a lot to tell. T do know

Daddy is in some kind of trouble-financial, I think; be's

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dropped hints, but won't tell me exactly what. It does mean, though, I won't

have Humperdinck much longer."

Nim was shocked. "Why?"

"The monthly payments are too much for my parents. I think I told you

Daddy's bank wouldn't lend the money, so he went to a finance company and

the interest rate was higher. I suppose that, and business things, have

crowded in."

"Look," Nim said, "I'd like to help .

"No! I said once before I won't ever take money from you, Nimrod, and I

meant it. You have your own family to look after. Besides, much as I love

Humperdinck, I managed without a van before and can do so again. It's Daddy

I'm concerned about."

"I really wish," Nim told her, "there were something I could do."

"Stay my friend, Nimrod. It's all I ask."

They said good night-with a gentle kiss, not passionate any moreoutside

Karen's apartment building. At her suggestion, because she said she was

tired, he did not go up, but walked sadly to his car, parked a block away.

12

In the last week of March, the dramatic, suddenly-erupting oil crisis

overshadowed all else, dominating national and international news.

"It's like imminent war," someone observed at a GSP & L management

committee meeting. "You keep thinking it won't happen, so that everything's

unreal until the guns start firing."

There was nothing unreal about the OPEC nations' unanimous decision.

Members of OPEC-the Arab countries and Iran, Venezuela, Indonesia,

Nigeria-bad decreed a few days earlier: After tankers on the high seas and

in United States ports had off-loaded their cargoes, no more oil would be

dispatched to the U.S. until the dispute over payment had been resolved.

The OPEC nations claimed to have ample dollar reserves with which to sit

out their embargo, reserves far greater, they pointed out, than U.S.

stockpiles of oil.

"Unfortunately, too goddam true," a travel-weary Secretary of State snapped

at Washington reporters in an undiplomatic, unguarded moment.

Within Golden State Power & Light, as elsewhere throughout the country,

urgent policy decisions were being made. In GSP & L's baili-

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wick the question was no longer "if" there would be widespread temporary

blackouts, but "bow soon" and to what extent.

The two previous years of drought in California and the light winter

snowfall in the Sierra Nevada were compounding the problem because

hydroelectric reserves were significantly less than usual.

Nim, whose role as vice president, planning, placed him at the center of

activity, became engaged in a hectic succession of conferences, their

purpose to review emergency plans and decide priorities.

Meanwhile, some national and state priorities had already been decreed.

The President ordered immediate gasoline rationing, and a standby coupon

scheme already "on the shelf" was to be activated within days.

Additionally, all sales of gasoline were forbidden from Friday nights to

Monday mornings.

Also emanating from Washington was an edict balting all major sporting

events and other attractions which produced large crowds, and closing

national parks. The objective was to reduce unnecessary travel, especially

by automobile. Theaters and movie houses, it was stated, might have to be

closed later.

All public utilities using oil were ordered to begin around-the-clock

"bromiouts" by reducing their voltages five percent.

Public utilities which produced electricity by burning coal-principally in

the central United States-were instructed to transmit as much power as they

could spare to the East and West Coasts, which would be hardest hit by the

oil embargo, and where massive umemployment was expected because of

power-short plants and businesses. The scheme was labeled "Coal by Wire."

However, its effect would be limited, in part because the central U.S.

needed most of its electricity for local use, and also because long

distance transmission lines were few in number.

Schools in many areas were being ordered to close now, and reopen in the

summer when their heating and lighting needs would be far less.

Curbs on air travel were being worked out and would shortly be announced.

More drastic steps, the public was ~varned-including three- or even

four-day weekends-were likely if the oil situation failed to improve.

Accompanying all official measures were pleas for voluntary conservation of

energy in all its forms.

At Golden State Power & Light, every discussion was overshadowed by the

knowledge that the utility's own stored oil was sufficient for only tfiirty

days of normal operation.

Since some new oil, from tankers now en route, would still be coming in, it

was decided that "rolling blackouts" would be delayed until the second week

of May. Then, initiallv, the electricity cutoffs would be for

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three hours each day, after which more draconian measures might be needed.

But even the earliest power cuts, it was realized, would be disruptive,

and damaging to the state's economy. Nim knew bow grim the situation was;

so did others directly involved. But the general public, Nim believed,

had still not grasped, or perhaps didn't want to, the full significance

of what was happening.

As well as Nim's planning duties, and because of his reinstatement as

company spokesman, he was in demand to explain the current scene and

outiook.

He found the two responsibilities a strain and told Teresa Van Buren,

"Okay, I'll handle the important occasions for you, but you'll have to

use your own people for the sinall stuff." She said she would.

Next day the p.r. director appeared in Nim's office. "There's a midday

TV program called Lunch Break."

:,You may not believe this, Tess," he said, "but I never watch it."

"Yeah, yeah; very funny. Well, don't be too quick to dismiss daytime

television. There are a million housewives out there who do watch, and

tomorrow the program wants the electricity crisis explained."

"By me, I suppose."

"Naturally," Van Buren said. "Who does it better?"

Nim grinned. "Okay, but do something for me. All TV stations specialize

in time wasting. They ask you to be there early, then keep you waiting

forever to go on. You know how busy I am so, for once, try to arrange a

fast-in, fast-out."

"I'll come with you myself," Van Buren said. "And I'll work it out. I

promise."

As it turned out, the promise was not fulfilled.

Lunch Break was a one-hour show which went on the air at noon. The p.r.

director and Nim arrived at the TV studios at 11:50- In the foyer a young

woman program assistant met them; like so many who worked in television,

she dressed and looked as if she graduated from high school the week

before. She carried the standard badge of office-a clipboard-and wore her

glasses in her hair.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Goldman. You'll be on last, at ten to one."

"Hey, hold it!" Van Buren protested. "I was assured Mr. Goldman would be

at the top of the show. He's one of our senior executives and his time

is valuable, especially now."

"I know." The program assistant smiled sweetly. "But the producer changed

his mind. Mr. Goldman's subject is rather heavy. It might depress our

audience."

"They should be depressed," Nim said.

"If thev are, and then switch off, our program will be over anyway," the

young woman said firmly. "Perhaps you'd like to come on the set while

you're waiting. Then you can watch the rest of the show."

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Van Buren looked at Nim, putting up her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

Resigned, knowing how much urgent work he could have accomplished in the

wasted hour, he told her, "Okay."

The program assistant, who had played the same scene many times, said,

"Come with me, please."

The studio set, colorful and brightly lighted, was intended to look like a

living room. Its centerpiece was a bright orange sofa occupied by two

regular interviewers-Jerry and jean-young, vivacious, turned-on, Beautiful

People. Three TV cameras prowled in front in a semicircle. Guests would

join the interviewers under the bright lights, one by one.

The show's first ten minutes was devoted to a dancing bear from a visiting

circus, the second to a seven ty-year-old grandmother who had traveled from

Chicago on roller skates. "I wore out five pairs," she boasted, "and would

have been here sooner, except the police wouldn't let me use interstate

highways."