I just moved to a new town on the coast and I'm looking for a job. I go into this toy factory and step up to the receptionist's counter. It's quite ornate like a Rube Goldberg Machine. The woman looks down at me, unsmiling, and asks what I want. I ask for an application. A box full of folded papers slides down a tube. One application folds out like a paper flower and I take it. It has strange things on it, like it's a brochure for the toys. I realize that this is a wonderful series of jokes and I smile and laugh, just watching and enjoying. I am being watched by the older man, the owner of the factory. He approves of my attitude. He's been waiting, because most of the women get confused or angry and leave. He says to someone, "I'll make her my wife." He calls me in and gives me his proposition. We will marry but it will not involve sex, merely a marriage of convenience. I think about it. He seems a nice enough guy and agree. But then he changes his mind. I shrug and smile and say, "Oh well, is this the way I get back?" He is impressed that I take it so good-naturedly and don't demand money for the return trip home. I start walking back. He follows. I stop and look at the beautiful bay and the ocean. I admire a furry animal as it scurries through the marsh grass. I ask if this is an island and if that man has the only return boats. I find a "delivery service" building and go in to get a ticket. The man comes up to me. He's short, too short, I think, so I make him taller, but he's a few inches shorter than me. I shrug. It's good enough. He tells me, "The clock tells good time but it is always one minute fast." He made the clock. It never sold well. It has an ornate sculpture of the mountains and coast. I examine it and then pepper him with questions because I can see ways he can improve the clock and make it a better seller. He has, as usual, cluttered things up unnecessarily. He's very impressed with my enthusiasm, good sense and persistence. He decides he does want to marry me. Now we're in the back seat of his chauffeur-driven, black, older car. The window is down and we are hanging our heads but looking at the scenery as it goes by, almost like a dog does, the wind flapping in our faces. The man tells me that he has two brothers. I see one, Rod Taylor, good looking and young, and realize this will make a good story if I fall in love with him while I'm married to the older, duller brother. The man says the man his mother married wasn't the father of any of the kids. The mother went out and had three different affairs with strangers off the streets and had three different kids. The man she was married to raised all the kids as his own. Then my "husband" said, "I've only told 12 people this story and you're the only one I've told it all to." I nod and say, "I am honored." We have a grudging sense of caring and respect for each other.