University of Virginia Library

If Jenny Were Alive Today-How
Would 'Love Story' Go?

By Stanley P. Friedman

(Reprinted from
The New York Times)

Evening. New York. Oliver
comes home to Jenny after a hard
day at the office.

"Did I have a day! What's
for dinner?"

"Guess."

"No, please. No games. Just tell
me it's not lasagna again."

Ali MacGraw As Jenny, Five Years After She Didn't Die

"You guessed it. Listen. I
thought you always liked Italian
cooking."

"It's not the heritage. Just that
pasta always sits heavy after a day
in court. It reminds me of our
Harvard meals."

"Harvard! What was so wrong
with Harvard? I should inform you
that we once had a very beautiful
relationship at Harvard. You never
even mention how carefree we were
any more. Next thing you'll be
forgetting our anniversary."

"Harvard is old hat. That's five
years ago."

"I suppose I should rustle up
some Waspy shepherd's pie
instead?"

"Oh, forget it. I'll cat lasagna."

"That's nice of you. I worked
two hours on it."

"How do you feel? How's your
cold?

"I don't have leukemia again if
that's what you're hoping."

"Did I say that? Did I say I wish
you had leukemia? Jesus!"

"Please, Oliver. Yesterday you
used His name in front of Bozo.
You can use other dirty words.
Foul language is no pleasure from a
father's lips."

"Jenny, you're Catholic again
and I agreed to be one so the
adoption agency would give us a
kid. I didn't say I'd stop swearing
or sinning. And while we're on it,
yesterday the little rat kicked
Sandra. I told him to apologize and
he wouldn't. He said he didn't have
to say he was sorry because he loves
her. I mean, for crissakes, I know
you say you don't have to say
you're sorry if you love someone,
but it would be nice to receive an
apology now and then, like when
someone forgets to pick up my suit
at the cleaners and I look like a
bum in court. I mean, if you can
apologize to the doorman for not
tipping him at Christmas, the least
you can do is say I'm sorry to you
husband if he ends up looking like a
slob, thank you."

"I did not forget your suit. You
told me you needed it today, not
yesterday."

"I did not. I said yesterday."

"Bull. If you don't like the
way..."

"Now who's foul mouthed?"

"You drive me to it. Any time
you don't like the way I run things
you can go live with your bigshot
father. Maybe he's enamored of
young lawyers who work for law
firms that sue Ralph Nader."

"Yeah, Well, speaking of fathers,
that cookie-maker of yours was
down here criticizing the way I
cleaned the apartment. I mean, I

promised your women's lib club to
clean on Saturdays, but why the
hell does he have to criticize my
housework?"

"You bastard. My father has
more feeling in his little finger than
your father has in his whole body.
At least he understands me, which
is more than you ever will in a
million years."

"Like hell I don't understand
you. You're an Italian broad who's
turned into an overweight
Manhattan princess."

"Overweight! Look at that
stomach hanging over your belt.
you corporate fascist flunky. All
you want is to dominate me...Now
where are you going?

"Ice skating."

"Go. Go ice skating. But, don't
expect to find me here when you
get back. Dr. Levine is right. You
only married me to take revenge on
you mother because she never
stood up for you against you
father."

Exit Oliver, burning and
mumbling. Enter Bozo.

"Mummy, what's wrong?

"Nothing, dear. Daddy's gone to
the park and Mummy has a
headache. Go back to bed."