The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (26 page)

A few days later, Ned entered Charlie’s office after lunch and confessed that he was obsessed with Karen Brisco.

“I find myself aroused whenever I’m around her,” he said. “It’s very distracting. This has never happened to me before. I think about her often. For no special reason. Every time I see a woman, I think she looks like Karen. I think, oh, if her hair were a little longer, or if she were a little shorter, she would be Karen. Just this morning on the bus, I saw someone who was her identical twin. I couldn’t believe the resemblance. I kept staring at her, I couldn’t help myself. Well, finally the woman looks over at me and it turns out it
was
Karen. She was only sitting one seat away. I’m completely losing perspective.”

“I’m in the middle of something right now,” Charlie said. He had been researching the pinkeye cattle virus in an attempt to determine if humans, particularly middle-aged chief marketing officers, could contract it from cows. “I want to finish a few things.”

Ned didn’t seem to hear him. He plunked down in a chair and continued to talk about Karen. “I’ve given this quite a bit of thought,” he said. “On the one hand, I want to pursue things with her, since we’re both unattached, and in the same age bracket—we’re ten years apart and I consider that the same age bracket—but on the other, I worry that it isn’t professional. I’m afraid it will come to a bad end and somehow compromise my position here.” He shifted his focus to Charlie. “This is all very confidential, of course. I hope you will be discreet with what I’m telling you.”

“Of course.”

“What do you think?” Ned asked.

“About what?”

“About her. Karen and me.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Have you ever had a romance with someone you worked with?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. But I’m forty-two years old. I feel I shouldn’t pass things up. I haven’t had sex in three years,” Ned said. “Well, four years, because that one time wasn’t really sex, technically.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because Bradley isn’t in yet.”

Charlie considered sharing his suspicions regarding Karen and Tamales, but decided against it. Though it was an educated one, it was, after all, still just a hunch. He also didn’t want to be the one to break Ned’s horny heart. So instead he said, “I’m probably the last person you want to talk about love with.”

“Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry,” Ned said. “How are things at home? Your suspicion about your wife…have you…had any confirmation on that?”

“No.”

“I see. Well, are things any better with her, then?”

Charlie thought about the humidifier and the blanket from the night before. “I might be making some headway. A little, maybe. I don’t know. I’m trying. She’s hard to read, though. I’m not sure what she wants me to say or do.”

“Just keep trying. I’m sure things will work out. Just keep at it. Speak from the heart. Don’t tell her what you think she wants to hear, just tell her the truth. Women can detect insincerity, I suspect. At least, that’s what I’ve heard or read.”

Charlie took this in. “Thanks. Thank you. I’ll do that.”

Ned sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. Long white socks shot out from under his pants leg. “And how are things proceeding with the animal company, the cattle place?”

“Fine. I’m meeting with them again in a few days. I think something might happen there.”

Ned’s eyes grew large. He sat back up. “What do you mean? They’re going to make you an offer? In a few days? This week?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. But maybe, yeah.”

This news threw Ned into a tizzy. He started splotching and sputtering. “Charlie, that’s…that’s…why, that’s terrific news!”

“Yes, it is.”

“But you don’t sound very excited.”

“Oh, I am. I am.”

“But you don’t sound it.”

“I am,” Charlie said.

“But?”

“But? There is no but.”

Ned gave Charlie a knowing look. “I believe there is a but.”

Charlie paused. “Okay, maybe the field isn’t that exciting,” he decided to say. “And I think I’ll be gone a lot again. A lot of travel. And I’ll be managing again, not really doing the creative work, not that there’s much creative to be done there.” He caught himself. “But it’s still a good job. I’d be lucky to have it. It fell in my lap. Things are terrible out there.”

Ned didn’t say anything. Instead, he examined Charlie’s face.

“What now?” Charlie asked.

“May I speak honestly?”

“What?”

“I think you’re conflicted.”

“Conflicted?”

“Down deep, I think you suspect this job might not be right for you. There will be lots of stress.”

“I didn’t say it was a perfect job. There’s stress in every job.”

“It varies. The stress in some jobs consumes you. In others, it doesn’t. In this one it sounds like it might.”

Charlie paused again. He was becoming irritated with Ned. “I thought your job was to help me get a job.”

“My job is to help you get the right job.”

“This job pays four hundred thousand. Maybe more. It’s the right job, trust me.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is. I don’t want to work in some piece-of-shit job. Sit in some cubicle.”

“It doesn’t have to be a piece of…” Ned shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. I didn’t mean to get you worked up.”

“I’m not worked up.”

“All I’m saying is maybe you shouldn’t rush things. Maybe you should consider options, take a step back and reevaluate. Consider a job that maybe offers some balance, a chance to be home more. It may pay less, but it might be worth it. Remember our discussion about work being a game? Ask yourself, are you just trying to get ahead in the game, or are you trying to get ahead in your life?”

Charlie swallowed hard. He looked past Ned at the wall, then back at him. “I’m busy, so are we done here?” he said.

Ned gave Charlie one final, searching look. “Apparently we are,” he said.

After Ned left, he stared at a poster of a silver-haired construction worker with oversized biceps operating a forklift on a loading dock (
IT CAN BE DONE…AND NOW
) and mulled things over. Ned’s points had, of course, echoed some of Charlie’s own private doubts about the job at Xanon, which was why, he knew, he had grown so short with him.

He eventually began searching Web sites for jobs that might minimize stress. He searched for more than an hour, but the only thing he found that even remotely fit his qualifications was a position for senior marketing director for a nonprofit group called the Midwest Parks and Recreation Association. It was a decent-sized group, probably paid a quarter of what he had made, but was located in a suburb only fifteen minutes from his house.

Could he be happy in a job like this? Could he spend the last third of his career promoting parks and recreation? Swing sets and monkey bars? Midwest summers? Brown-bagging his lunch, overseeing a small staff of two or three recent college graduates, being home for dinner every night at six
P.M.
in time to watch the evening news? Little or no travel?

He thought about this and wondered what he would do with all that extra time. For years he had filled every available minute with work. He had become addicted. Consumed.

He hadn’t always been this way. When he was just starting out, he had some balance. He recalled family dinners, neighborhood barbecues, school plays. He remembered once even calling in sick to go to a White Sox game with Donna. Calling in sick! He must have been a different person back then. What happened? Why had he changed? To be sure, he had become more materialistic, and more competitive, but there had to be other reasons. Those were too easy, too obvious.

He then thought about something Ned had said: work is an excuse. He began to suspect that there might be some truth to that. Maybe, just maybe, as he got older and being a parent and a husband got tougher, he took the easier way out. Maybe, just maybe, rather than going to work all these years, allegedly for Donna and Kyle, he actually had been running away from them. To pursue his own interests, he thought.

He sat back in his chair, considered, but did not completely concede this point. Then he got up for some water.

In the kitchen area, he ran into Bradley, who was once again wearing his blue suit. Charlie now suspected that this was the only suit he owned.

“Hey, there, partner,” Bradley said. He blew into a gray Rogers & Newman coffee cup and smiled.

“What’s going on, there, Bradley?” Charlie made his way over to the refrigerator.

“Going good, going good.”

“Things still moving along with that job?”

“Things are proceeding nicely. All systems go.” Bradley winked. “That’s all I’m going to say about that, though, buddy, right now. Don’t want to disturb the karma.”

“Karma is key.” Charlie searched for a bottle of water in the refrigerator, but didn’t find one. Instead, he poured himself a short cup of coffee, even though he knew the afternoon coffee was especially rancid, since it had been sitting there for hours. He was leaning back on the counter when he noticed something sticking out of the side pocket of Bradley’s jacket. He was about to comment when he realized what it was: several packages of coffee and creamer that Bradley was obviously smuggling home. He quickly looked away.

“Hey, I have Bulls tickets,” Bradley said. He again blew into his coffee. “Got them from a friend. I’m not a big basketball fan, but I’m thinking of going—”

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

Charlie put his coffee down and pushed off from the counter. “I gotta go.”

“Where? Everything okay?”

“My son’s first game is tonight. It’s at six. I almost forgot.”

Bradley checked his watch. “It’s just after four. You got time.”

“Yeah, but I can’t be late,” Charlie said as he raced out. “I cannot be late.”

He was late. Traffic was terrible, a flipped-over van had things backed up forever, and by the time he found Donna, sitting up high in the bleachers, third row from the back wall, his heart was pounding, his adrenaline in overdrive. As soon as he saw her, he immediately launched into his well-rehearsed apology.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “But traffic was unbelievable! I tried, but it wasn’t moving. I left at four o’clock. I was sitting there for two hours. Two hours. I tried to call you. I called twice. Did you get my message? It was on the radio. The accident.”

Donna surprised him by saying, almost cheerfully, “That’s okay, I just got here,” and scooting over to make room for him on the bench. “Hurry up. It just started. There’s no score.”

“Oh.” Charlie was confused and relieved. At the very least, he had expected the silent treatment. He glanced over his shoulder, down at the court, then sat. “Yeah, good, okay. I’m sorry, though. I left—”

“I said, okay. Relax.”

The gym was hot and crowded with people crammed shoulder to shoulder. Off to one side, blue-and-gold-clad cheerleaders kicked their legs and yelled, “
Go Lions
,” through cone-shaped megaphones. Up in the dark rafters, oversized banners celebrating past conference championships somberly hung. Charlie looked up at them, impressed. Apparently, the Lions were a power house: he counted five straight titles.

As soon as Charlie got situated, he scanned the Wilton bench for Kyle. “Where is he?”

“He’s playing,” Donna said.

“What? He’s playing? You mean in the game? You’re kidding.” He searched the floor and found Kyle standing out of bounds under the far basket, about to pass the ball in.

“What’s he doing? He’s got the ball in his hands,” he said. This amazed him. Based on his role in
Mr. Vengeance
, he had assumed Kyle was a seldom-used reserve. “Does he start?”

“Yes,” Donna said. “He’s the starting point guard.”

Charlie immediately sat taller, his chest inflating. “He starts,” he said loudly to no one. “That’s unbelievable. I didn’t know he was a starting point guard. He’s only a junior. He must be pretty good. I mean, look at all those banners. This is a good team. This is great.” He was feeling an uncontrollable and completely unfamiliar rush of excitement and pride.

His pride exploded a few seconds later when Kyle took the ball deep in the corner and hit a three-point shot. Overwhelmed, Charlie leaped to his feet, pounded his chest, and let out a primal scream.

“Unbelievable! That was unbelievable.” He looked down at Donna, who was frozen in embarrassment. “Did you see that shot? It was all net. All net!” His face was hot and he was breathing fast. Donna gently tapped the bench and he sat down.

He shot back up a moment later, though, when Kyle stole a pass at midcourt and went in uncontested for a layup. “Did you see that? That’s amazing. How’s he doing this? I mean, what is going on?” Several people turned to look at him.

“That’s my son,” Charlie said, pointing back down to the court. “Number thirty-three. Kyle Baker. I’m his biological father.”

“Charlie, please!”

He sat back down. “I’m sorry. You know how I get. But are you seeing this, are you
seeing
this? That’s Kyle out there,” he said. “He’s scoring baskets, everything. That’s Kyle. Our son!” Without thinking, he grabbed Donna and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

She was shocked by this, her face flushing red. She quickly pulled away from him. “I know who it is,” she calmly said. But a second later, she briefly reached over, took his hand, and squeezed it.

Throughout the game, Kyle continued to score, it seemed, at will. Charlie watched in disbelief as he weaved, cut, passed, and dribbled his way around other players, his face uncommonly focused, his jaw set, his hair flopping. As the point guard, he handled the ball during nearly every Wilton possession, pointing to other players and barking out orders, directing their movement and flow. His transformation from Mr. Laid Back to confident field general was incomprehensible. If it weren’t for his breathing techniques, Charlie would have certainly hyperventilated.

After the game, his exhilaration intensified. Kyle had scored twenty-six points and grabbed eight rebounds while leading the Lions to an impressive victory over archrival Hinsdale Central. He wanted to scream, dance, take off his shirt, and pound his chest again. More than anything, though, he wanted to get down on the floor and congratulate Kyle. Unfortunately, since they were so far up, all he could do was stand there, stuck in the bleachers, while the crowd slowly filed out below.