The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (9 page)

Charlie remained calm. “All I’m saying is that we have to watch our money, that’s all. Just make a little effort.”

“Since when?”

“It’s the responsible thing to do. We are in a recession, for the record.”

“Responsible? What do you know about that?” Donna was wound up, her face red, her freckles out in full force. “You’re…you’re never here, I have no idea where you are half the time. And when you are here, you’re hovering over your computer or checking that stupid thing, your precious little BlackBerry. You have no interest in Kyle, no idea what’s going on here. You couldn’t care less.”

Charlie resisted the urge to slam the can of lima beans down on the counter and instead said, “I care,” very quietly.

“Yeah, right,” Donna said. She stormed off.

He considered following her, but decided to let things be for the moment, let things bottom out. Obviously, this outburst had been building for some time, he thought. She had reasons to vent. He had been almost non ex is tent on the home front the past two years, and when he was home, he was distant and irritable. Setting things right and winning her back would be a challenge. But he was confident he could do it. He needed to. With his job gone, he had no energy, no desire to fight with his wife. He needed things stable, peaceful at home, so he could concentrate on his future.

After he had finished with the groceries, he started in on dinner. He began broiling the pork chops, made a salad with the bruised tomatoes, and popped three baking potatoes into the oven. Despite his frequent absences, he was no stranger to the kitchen. Early in their marriage, he had done his share of the cooking and still knew the basics. Besides, he had worked on a number of food accounts over the years and consequently had been forced to know the inside of an oven.

Once he thought the chops were done, he poured himself a glass of chardonnay, took a sip, and headed upstairs to their room. The door was shut and he knocked before opening it.

Donna was sitting in the middle of the bed reading. At first she didn’t hear him and for a moment he saw her how he used to see her: relaxed, interested, slightly amused. He was both surprised and insulted that she could switch gears so quickly, moving from argument to being absorbed in a book in less time than it took for pork chops to broil. When she finally glanced up and saw him, the light in her face flickered out and she looked extinguished.

“Are you coming down to eat? I actually made dinner.”

“You what?”

“I made dinner.” He tried to say this very nonchalantly, as if cooking were something he did every week, as opposed to never.

She went back to her book. “By any outside chance are you going to be home for the next few days? I want to visit Aaron. He threw his back out again.”

“Visit Aaron.” Charlie was embarrassed at the flood of relief he felt over this news, knowing that she might be leaving. Aaron was one of her many ex-football-playing older brothers who used to harass him in high school. He lived in Minneapolis now, in between wives. He had chronic back problems, the result of twelve years of playing linebacker for the Minnesota Vikings. At the age of fifty-four, he could barely walk.

“Are you going to be in town for Kyle?” she asked. “Are you going to be traveling? Because if you are, I won’t go.”

“No, I’m not, actually. I’m here.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? You’re not going to sleep in the office downtown getting ready for some big, important pitch?”

“I said I’d be here.”

She went back to her book.

“What are you reading?”

She flipped the cover of the book and Charlie saw the title:
Dreams and What They Mean.

“Is it good?”

She flipped the book back.

He watched her read. He needed to tell her now, he thought. He needed to say he had been fired, thrown out, tossed aside, and that he needed her help and support and love because he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. But instead he said, “I made pork chops.”

“Pork chops.”

“I broiled them. Come on.”

She seemed to be studying him with interest.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She returned to her book.

“Come on, let’s eat, then. I cooked and everything.”

“I don’t want to. I’m reading. I’ll eat later. I just want to be alone. I had a bad day too. You’re not the only one who has bad days.”

“What happened? Are you getting sick?”

“I never get sick.”

“Well, did you have a bad day at that place you go to, that community thing, that bright place?”

“It’s called Bright Day. I’ve been going there for almost two years now. Why can’t you remember the name of it? It’s Bright Day, Bright Day, Bright Day!”

“Okay, Bright Day, whatever.”

“Don’t say whatever.”

“Okay, all right, just calm down.” He took a deep breath and tried to regain control of the conversation. “So are you going to come down or what? It’s not like I cook every day.”

She shut the book hard. “What is going on here, huh? Just what exactly is going on?”

He swallowed. “I made dinner.”

“You shopped, you…you cooked, you’re…you’re reading our bills.”

“So what are you so mad about? You’re always saying I’m never at home, so when I am home and when I do help out, you attack me.” He shook his head and made a big point about sighing. “Anyway, are you coming or are you going to stay up here and read another dream book?”

She picked up the book again and Charlie could see she was making an effort to calm herself. “I’d like to be alone. So just leave me alone. Please.”

He was about to answer when he heard a creak in the hallway. He turned and saw Kyle standing at the top of the stairs.

“Did you get that food?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”

“Yeah. I even cooked it. Come on.” Charlie looked at Donna one last time, then headed downstairs.

Kyle put his glass down. “This tastes kind of weird,” he said. “What is this?”

“It’s soda pop.”

“What kind?”

“What difference does it make?”

Kyle reached for the huge plastic bottle and read the label. “Mountain
Dude
?” He pushed it away. “Do we have any Mountain Dew?”

“This is the same thing.”

“Tastes kind of weird.”

“It’s the same thing. There’s not much difference in products. There’s just a difference in prices. It’s all advertising.”

They were sitting at the kitchen island, eating dinner and watching the flip-down TV. Up until this point they had both been quiet: Kyle absorbed in
Jeopardy
, and Charlie with Donna. He was debating when to tell her.

“Can I have more of that stuff?” Kyle asked.

“You mean the lima beans? Yeah, here.” Charlie passed the serving bowl, then played with his own salad. In contrast to Kyle, he hadn’t eaten much. What he really wanted to do was drink, and not Mountain Dude. He went to the wine refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of chardonnay. He would have preferred something harder, but he thought it best to stick with wine in front of Kyle.

“So, how was school? How’s it going? You like it?” Kyle was a sophomore at Wilton Township, reputed to be one of the best public high schools in the state. Donna had been very apprehensive about sending him there, worried that it was too competitive, too large. She had wanted him to go to the smaller Catholic school back on the South Side where they used to live, an hour’s bus ride away.

“It’s going okay,” he said.

“Are you going to do any sports? Go out for anything? I remember you said you were thinking of running cross-country.” Charlie sipped his wine.

Kyle shrugged. “No, I’m not doing that.”

“How about swimming? I used to swim.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t think so.”

“You should give it a try. At least one of them. You’re a good runner. I remember you won that race that one time.”

“What race?”

“You know, that one time. In the park with the big hill out in Naperville.”

“That was in seventh grade.” Kyle ate some lima beans, his eyes on the TV. “I’m going to play basketball. Going to try out again.”

Charlie sipped his wine. “You are?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t play last year.”

“I was going to, but I broke my ankle.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Yeah.”

Kyle watched more TV. Charlie drank more wine. “What is the Bay of Pigs?” he said.

“What?” Kyle looked at him.

Charlie nodded to the TV. “It’s the answer to the question.”

“Oh.”

“Who is Fidel Castro?”

“What?”

Charlie nodded again at the TV.

“Oh.”

Charlie moved his salad around. “Do you know who Fidel Castro is?”

Kyle shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s the leader of Cuba. Do you know where Cuba is?”

Another shrug.

“You don’t know where Cuba is? Come on, Kyle. Don’t tell me you don’t know where Cuba is, don’t tell me that.”

Kyle picked up one last lima bean, pinched it between his thumb and his index finger, and examined it before popping it into his mouth.

“Guess,” he said. “Take a guess. I know you know it.”

“Asia.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Asia Minor.”

“Come on, Kyle! Jesus! Cuba is an island off the coast of Florida. You should know this stuff. I mean, come on, it’s important. I know you don’t think it is, but it is.”

“Why is it important?”

“It just is. Knowing where Cuba is, is important.”

Kyle mumbled something.

“What’s that?”

“It’s probably only important if you’re on a game show.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why is it important, then?”

Charlie stopped here. He couldn’t think of a single reason, in the grand scheme of things, why knowing the location of Cuba was important. “Do you want some ice cream?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Charlie got up and took out the enormous plastic tub of Mr. Goody’s. He had to use both hands to pry open the lid. Kyle stared at the tub. “Did our old grocery store burn down or something?” he asked.

“No.” Charlie started to scoop the ice cream.

“What kind of ice cream is that?”

“It’s chocolate.”

“It looks weird.”

“It’s all the same. It’s frozen cream.” He was having trouble scooping; Mr. Goody’s had a different consistency than Häagen-Dazs and seemed to be much heavier, like it was waterlogged.

“I don’t want any,” Kyle said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m full.” He pushed his plate away and stood up.

“You know, you’re going to have to lower your standards once in a while,” Charlie said. “This ice cream is just as good as the other ice cream.”

“Häagen-Dazs?”

“Yeah. You know, Häagen-Dazs is expensive.”

“Do we have any?”

“No.” Charlie stopped scooping and turned to face him. “I’ve got news for you, Kyle, you’re not a kid anymore and it’s time that maybe you understand how expensive things are. Things cost money. This house costs money. Ice cream costs money.” He pointed his scooper at him. “Your braces cost money. How much do you think your braces cost?”

Kyle’s hand went up to his mouth. “I don’t know. How much?”

Charlie didn’t really know this either. “A lot. And we all have to do our part, as a family, to make sure we economize. We have to be more frugal. Do you know what frugal means?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“It means we have to live cheaply. Not spend as much money.”

Kyle didn’t have any immediate response to Charlie’s lecture on The New Frugality. Instead, he picked at his braces with his pinkie finger and started to leave the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“My room.”

“What are you going to do there?”

“Nothing.”

“You always say that, but you’re not doing nothing. You can’t be. No one does nothing.”

Kyle thought about this. “You’re doing nothing when you’re sleeping.” Rather than being combative or sarcastic, he looked quite profound when he said this, as if he had been wrestling with this notion for quite some time.

“Yes, you are, you’re doing something when you’re sleeping. You’re sleeping,” Charlie said. “Are you going to sleep?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing.” Charlie studied Kyle, a lima bean stuck in the side of his braces and the fly of his jeans halfway down. He felt his heart break. He remembered him as a quiet little person who liked to hum, play Legos, draw pictures of the moon, the stars. He had no idea where that humming little drawing person had gone; he wondered what this tall, shaggy-haired, geography-challenged person, this man-child, had done with him.

“Well, do your homework, at least.”

“It’s Friday.”

“Okay, well, go up to your room and do nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Brush your teeth, though. Your braces are full of crap,” Charlie yelled after him, but he was gone and Charlie was alone. He looked at the TV.
Jeopardy
was still on.

“What is the Cuban Missile Crisis?” he said out loud, then went to find the bourbon.

I’m Bradley Smith. For eighteen years I was the chief marketing officer of the Bank of the Midwest. I oversaw the marketing efforts of our sixty-four branches in a nine-state region. I initiated the development of an aggressive campaign that repositioned the bank as a relevant and dynamic institution that catered to start-ups and other companies in the high-tech industry. However, due to a merger between the Bank of Tokyo and the Bank of the Midwest, I was one of fifty employees released from the bank.”

“Excellent,” Ned Meyers said. “Succinct. And I like the use of the word released. Very nice. Now add some personal backstory.”

Bradley looked around the room and smiled. “I’m from Texas, West Texas, played football for the Longhorns, served in Vietnam. I have three kids, all grown and gone. I’m a grandpa, though I don’t feel like one.”

Everyone chuckled at this and Ned clapped his hands. “Excellent. In a few short seconds, we’ve learned a lot about Bradley. He sums up well.”

Ned turned to a pale man sitting next to Charlie. “Walter, your turn.”

“Do I have to do this again?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

The man gave his head a slight shake. “I’m still Walter Konkist. For eight years I was a director of marketing at Ellenbee, Asperger, and Powers, a nationwide insurance company. Due to a consolidation of our offices, I was fired.”

“Walter,” Ned wailed, his voice a siren.

“I was released.”

“I think ‘let go’ works better for you,” Ned said.

Walter let out a breath. “I was let go and am currently working as a consultant for a number of smaller, regional insurance companies. I am, however, interested in exploring full-time opportunities.”

“Excellent. I like the fact that you include your consulting experience. I think that makes you relevant.”

“Should I say I’m consulting too?” Bradley asked.

“Are you?”

“No. But neither is Walter.”

Ned turned to Walter. “You’re not?”

“No,” Walter said.

“Well, I’m not sure you should say that, then.”

“Why not?”

“They may ask you about your consulting jobs. They may want references.”

Walter appeared unconcerned. He had a fleshy face with flat, glossy eyes spaced too far apart. “My problem,” he said.

Ned persisted. “I would advise against doing that. Lying to a potential employer.”

“My problem.”

“Well. I’m afraid it’s your decision.” Ned looked down at his legal pad. “Any personal backstory?”

“I’m married and have two kids.”

“Anything else to add?”

“We have a dog too.”

“Fine.” Ned next turned to an attractive blond woman sitting across the room from Charlie. She was wearing a short skirt, a blessed distraction from the dreariness of the room. Charlie had been admiring her legs for most of the meeting.

“I’m Karen Brisco. I was a director of communications for Shelter.”

“Excuse me,” Ned said. “
A
director of communications?
A
director? Was there more than one director of communications at Shelter?”

Karen uncrossed her legs and sat forward in her chair. “No.”

“Then you were
the
director of communications.” He looked proudly around the room.

“I was
the
director of communications for Shelter, a national company that owns assisted-care facilities. In my capacity as director of communications, I oversaw the company’s publications and internal employee newsletters. I also oversaw crisis communications efforts, including the coordinating of media relations surrounding the tragic murders of nine residents by an orderly in Darien, Connecticut. Due to the economic downturn there was a major staff reduction. However, my experience at Shelter was invaluable and has prepared me for new, senior communications opportunities.”

Ned Meyers tapped a fingertip lightly against his nose. “Karen, I know you want to get the killing incident in, but it’s a bit awkward. I think you’re forcing it. I don’t think it should be part of your summary.”

“But it’s the most important thing I did at Shelter. It was on all the networks. I was the chief spokesperson. It got intensive coverage. I was on CNN.”

“I know, I know, and it’s very impressive. Maybe we should work on the wording a bit, then. Murder sounds so negative.”

“Well, he did kill them.” She looked around the room. “With a hammer.”

“I know, I know.” Ned seemed genuinely distressed. He kept tapping the tip of his index finger against the point of his nose. “How about using the word
slaying
? The tragic slaying of nine of our residents?”

“I don’t think that sounds right,” Karen Brisco said. “Slaying. You don’t slay someone with a hammer.”

Ned thought about this, then asked, “What does everyone else think?”

Charlie avoided Ned’s eyes and fiddled with his cell phone. He and about ten other refugees had been sequestered in a small, windowless conference room at Rogers & Newman for more than two hours, sitting in a circle and rehearsing their public statements out loud. These statements, according to Ned Meyers, were explanations used to summarize former jobs as well as the reasons for leaving them.

“Well, I think we can revisit that later, Karen,” Ned said. “Before we move on, anything personal you’d like to add?”

“Yes. I’m single, love fiction and poetry, and am a big sports fan. I’ve also run in two marathons.”

“Two marathons,” Ned said, impressed. He stared at Karen a bit gooey-eyed, as faint red blotches formed on his neck.

Ned cleared his throat and turned to Charlie. “It’s your turn, Charlie. I hope you’re ready for this.”

Charlie sat up. He hadn’t prepared anything, of course. He thought the whole exercise beneath him, something better suited for middle managers rather than senior management. He let out a deep breath. “I’m Charlie Baker. For twenty-two years, I worked at Collins & Park. I started as a copywriter right out of Northwestern, where I was on partial academic scholarship, and worked my way up to creative director of the Midwest. My most notable campaigns were the Yacker’s toilet tissue account, which was controversial because it involved throwing a live kitten, live cat, out of an airplane. It had a parachute on, made partially of toilet paper, so it survived. Of course, I also did the Bagel Man campaign that featured celebrities like Elton John, who agreed to change the lyrics to his song ‘Rocket Man’ to ‘Bagel Man.’ I actually wrote the line, ‘I think it’s going to be a long, long time until I taste a bagel quite as fine.’ I don’t know if you remember that campaign, but it ran a long time and won a significant number of awards for the agency. They almost made a sit-com out of it, but the pilot wasn’t picked up.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Ned said.

Charlie paused. “I’m not done yet.”

Ned said, “Oh, well…”

Charlie continued. “I was heavily recruited to join DiSanto & Herr three years ago. Initially, I refused their offer, but they were very persistent and made me a very good, very generous offer to become creative director and deputy general manager there. I was promoted to general manager last year.”

Charlie stopped again and wished for a glass of water. “Once I was named GM, I quickly realized that the agency was on the brink of, well, disaster, and began to implement a series of dramatic but needed changes. I was in the initial stages of phase one of my strategic turnaround plan—”

“Excuse me, Charlie?” Ned tapped his wristwatch. “I believe your statement is running long,” he said.

“What?”

“Long, it should be under thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds? I can’t sum everything up that fast. I’ve been working in this business for a long time. Thirty seconds is impossible.”

“But that’s the whole point of the exercise. To be concise.”

Charlie glanced around the room. Everyone looked blankly back at him, except for Walter, who was smirking. “Oh,” he said. “Okay, well, let me try again, then.”

“I’m afraid we’re running out of time. Why don’t you finish with a brief personal backstory?”

“Fine. All right, then.” Charlie thought about this. “Well, I went to Northwestern University and was president of my fraternity, Phi Kappa Psi, which was a very good house—that was an elected position, by the way—and I was almost summa cum laude. I run a lot, no marathons—yet…” He pointed at Karen and smiled. “Though I run about four or five miles a day when I can, but it’s tough with all the traveling I do. And, let’s see, I enjoy reading, but once again, with my schedule, I don’t have much time for leisure reading. I read mostly nonfiction—sorry, no short fiction…” Once again he pointed at Karen. “And I have an extensive collection of works on Abraham Lincoln. I’m a big Lincoln fan. I’ve studied his lessons on leadership.”

Ned tapped his watch. “Charlie…”

“And I have a wife and son.”

Ned stared at him and chewed on this upper lip. “That’s fine, for now. We’ll work on trimming it next time.” Ned stood. “Thank you, everyone. I think we’re about done for today.”

Charlie gathered his things and checked his cell phone again.

“Charlie, may I have a word with you?” Ned asked.

Charlie looked up. He knew or realized that he had made a mess of his personal statement, and suddenly wanted to leave the office and be done with the refugee experience for the day. “Actually, I’m running late,” he said. He continued to examine his cell phone for non ex is tent messages. He missed his BlackBerry desperately. Over the years, it had saved him from numerous awkward encounters like this.

Ned’s sad, wise eyes searched Charlie’s face. “I was hoping we could chat. I already received the results of your self-evaluation tests. Are you interested in hearing what they had to say? They might surprise you. They offer some intriguing options to consider. Career options.”

Ned was referring to a self-assessment test Charlie had taken the day before. Charlie had quickly completed the test, then nodded off to sleep in his office. According to Ned, the test could be used to help identify potential and exciting career paths.

“I’d like to hear what they have to say, but I have to go now.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Charlie gave Ned a brief, snappy smile and headed for the door. He stopped when he felt Ned gently pull at his elbow.

“Charlie, may I say something?”

Charlie turned and frowned at the hand on his elbow, before slowly looking up at him. “Yes?”

Ned took a step back. “Charlie,” he said, “I think it’s important that you make a real effort here. The more you put into our seminars, the things we have to offer, the more you’ll get out of it.”

“I’m making an effort,” Charlie said.

“If I can be honest, I don’t think you are, at least, not yet. Though I know it’s only been a week or so. But you did fall asleep during the assessment test, I peered in on you, and you didn’t seem very prepared for today’s session, even though we discussed it yesterday.”

“Listen,” Charlie said. He gave Ned another tight, short smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to be here long. I just need an office and a phone. So you might want to focus on some of the others. They need your help more than, I think, I do.”

Ned appraised him before saying, “I’m glad you’re so confident.”

“I’ve been in this business a long time. I think I know what I’m doing, so if you don’t mind.” With that, Charlie opened the door and walked out.