What Might Have Been

Marv is a successful businessman. He has two jewelry stores and, surprisingly, he is surviving the economic downturn quite nicely. He is not getting rich by replacing watchbands and batteries, but the occasional sale of high-margin tourmaline earrings or a tennis bracelet helps pay his kids’ tuition. So life is good. And yet Marv is experiencing a vague malaise.

The problem is that his business does not present intellectual challenge. He feels his mind is turning to tapioca. Running a jewelry business, he confesses, is like sitting around watching the town rust. No opportunity for brilliant initiatives. No chance to make a splash, to make the Lifestyle section of the local newspaper. Oh sure, there have been some jewelry triumphs. Harry Winston, for example, designed ruby slippers (featuring 4,600 rubies) for the 50^th anniversary of The Wizard of Oz. But Winston was a wizard himself; Marvin isn’t.

Maybe, Marv thinks, he should take some chances. Maybe he could market a chain saw encrusted with sapphires or a Wheaties box with the “W” bordered in emeralds. Nah, that’s just not him. Basically, Marv buys his jewelry, puts the pieces on black velvet, schmoozes with customers, sells an engagement ring or anniversary pendant, and leaves at 5:30, so he can meet his doubles tennis group at the club by 7:00. The business puts bagels on the table, but, to Marv’s increasing dissatisfaction, the lox and cream cheese are always missing.

Marv ruminates about what might have been. He recalls Robert Frost’s poem The Road Not Taken. What if he had taken the path “less traveled by”? What if he had gone in a different direction? His mind drifts . . .

Marv sees himself—he has just completed his third movie and is getting noticed. His full head of hair and tight abs have helped land him parts as a deep-cover CIA operative, an underwater treasure hunter, and a rogue lover-boy. He is a cross between Matt Damon and Daniel Craig, with just a touch of George Clooney. He’s given himself a new name, Varth Dader. Marv enjoys acting and enjoys capitalizing on his Ivy League education by using multi-syllabic words, such as “transformative,” during interviews. He works hard at being humble and thus far has avoided the gossip columns except for the time he accidentally spilled iced tea on himself

Marv wants to do Shakespeare, of course, and a Broadway show. He doesn’t want to be considered a lightweight. Maybe he should slow down on dating vapid starlets and wearing shades indoors. A playboy reputation is not the image he wants to cultivate. Still, things are looking up. Letterman’s people have called, and there was a message on his machine with a feeler from the Spielberg group. They are thinking of casting him as an American soldier who falls in love with an Iraqi woman but runs into trouble when he tries to open a fruit stand in Kirkuk.

Marv muses further. What if he had entered politics? He can see it now. He is running for congress, representing a district in Marin. He has steadily risen through the School Board, the Parks and Open Space Commission, and the County Board of Supervisors. He has gotten some excellent exposure—three minutes on KQED, a column in the Marin Independent Journal, an interview on Michael Krasny’s show. He’s ready. He’s worked on catchy phrases and alliterations, such as “Unemployment leads to uninvolvement”; “There is a pandemic of poverty”; “We must take back what has been taken away.” He works on his rhetoric—“Taxes are a swamp, drowning initiative and breeding resentment”—but stays away from details. Details provide too much ammunition for the opposition. Keep it vague, even banal, but don’t forget to make it sound empowering.

Marv is certain he will be a rising star in Washington. His strategy would be to scan the headlines and then hold hearings on anything remotely titillating. “We’re holding this hearing today because these lollipops from China discolor children’s teeth. We will not tolerate saddling a generation of American citizens with purple teeth!” Actually, the subject wouldn’t matter; what would matter would be exposure. Following each hearing, Marv would plan pithy comments to the press (“Some of the witnesses this morning were dissembling and disingenuous”), making them sound spontaneous so as to upstage Nancy Pelosi and the glib Barney Frank.

Or, what if he had gone to art school and become a painter/sculptor? He could paint a leaf or a petunia, pretend he’s Ellsworth Kelly, and make a fortune. Or he could do some huge abstract metal sculptures like those of Mark di Suvero—something like a wrecking ball resting on an old Studebaker with a Cuisinart sitting mysteriously on the front seat. Or what about some exaggerated ceramic stuff like Robert Arneson’s bust of George Moscone or the wild caricatures of Jeff Koons.

Of course, he wouldn’t be instantly famous. He would concentrate on painting. He would have to get into some juried shows, exhibit in galleries and small museums, and he’d have to insinuate himself into a prominent person’s private collection. Marv is sure he has the talent; he has mastered chiaroscuro and perspective, and his colors are witty and bold without pandering in the manner of Leroy Neiman. Once he masters marketing, there is no reason he shouldn’t make it.

But he went into the jewelry business, and that has made all the difference.

Asher Rubin thought he was a thoracic surgeon, which caused havoc with his playmates. Later, he toyed with the idea of manufacturing antiques or selling candied lima beans, but finally wound up being a lawyer.