The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (27 page)

“I wish they’d hurry,” Charlie said. “He’s going to go in the locker room. We’re going to miss him.”

“Settle down,” Donna said. “There’s a pretty good chance we’ll run into him at home tonight.”

When he saw Kyle making his way across the court toward the locker room, he could wait no longer and began to force his way down to the floor, leaving Donna with a gaggle of well-wishers. He pushed through the crowd, wearing a new blue and gold Lions cap and sweatshirt he had bought at halftime. (“Make way for number thirty-three’s dad. I’m his father, number thirty-three’s father. Kyle Baker’s dad. That’s right, Kyle Baker’s dad coming through. Make way, please.”)

Kyle was about to enter the locker room but turned when Charlie yelled his name. A look of fear crept over his face as his father approach.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked. He backed away from Charlie’s extended hand.

“Nothing. I just wanted to personally congratulate you.” Charlie jiggled his hand up and down. “Shake it,” he said.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Other hand.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kyle switched hands. “Where’d you get that stuff?” he motioned toward Charlie’s new cap and sweatshirt.

“Where do you think? I bought it. Hey, you played very well. You played great. You had twenty-six points. Did you know that? The next-highest scorer had just fourteen. We’re proud of you. Very proud.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Okay, well, let’s go home and have dinner. Should we wait for you? What’s the process here? What’s next?” Charlie was talking fast and, he noticed, perspiring. He was very pumped up. He dabbed some sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“We’re all going out,” Kyle said.

“What do you mean? Who is? Who’s we?”

“Guys on the team. Is it all right that I go?”

Charlie glanced past him to the locker room door. “Oh, you mean like a team dinner?”

“Yeah. Can I go?”

“Sure, yeah. Team dinners are important, I guess.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Because I’m grounded, I thought.”

“Oh, yeah. That. Yeah.” Charlie had forgotten about Kyle’s punishment for defacing the signs. He thought about this, actually rubbing his chin. “Well, just this once, since it’s team-related.”

“Is it okay with Mom?”

He paused. “I think so,” he said slowly. “As long as this is officially team-related. I’ll talk to her. Just don’t stay out too late, okay? And no Coke. No caffeine. Zero. You need your sleep. Drink club soda. I always drink club soda at night when I’m on the road.”

Kyle silently mouthed the words club soda.

“Okay.” Charlie slapped him on the shoulder again. “Hey, you need some money? For the team dinner?”

“No, I’m okay. I have money.”

“Let me give you some, just in case.” Charlie whipped out his wallet and handed him five twenties. “Here.”

“Dad, that’s a hundred dollars. We’re getting pizza. Only six of us are going.”

“Get dessert,” Charlie said.

“Dad.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? Just don’t worry about it.” He pushed the money toward his son. “And remember, Kyle, club soda.”

Later that night, after he ate some of the lasagna while standing over the kitchen sink (Donna had predictably run off to Bright Day), he went upstairs to the office and relived parts of the game: the back-to-back three-pointers late in the second half, the no-look pass to that big center for an easy layup, Kyle’s spirited fist pump to the crowd after he blocked a shot. Soon he was online, researching basketball. Other than pickup games, Charlie had never played the sport in an organized fashion and he knew he would have to bone up on things if Kyle were to have a long and successful career in the NBA.

After some searching, he eventually discovered a treasure trove of material on a Web site dedicated to the philosophy of John Wooden, the legendary basketball coach at UCLA. Charlie pulled his chair close to the screen and took copious notes on strategy and conditioning on a legal pad.

It was close to eleven when he remembered to check for voice mails, and when he did he discovered that the Wizard had called during the game. Charlie considered calling back, but it was late, and besides, his mind was on other things.

On his way down the hallway, he stuck his head into the bedroom. Donna was in bed, propped up with pillows, reading.

“Is he back yet?” he asked.

“He’s asleep.” She didn’t look up.

“Sleeping, already?”

“It’s late. I think those games take a lot out of him.”

“Boy, I didn’t even hear him come in.” He peered down the dark hallway.

“You shouldn’t have let him go out for dinner,” Donna said. “He’s grounded, remember?”

“I told you, it was a team thing. He had a responsibility to go. He’s the best player on the team.”

Donna shook her head and kept her eyes down on her book.

“Think I can wake him?” Charlie asked.

“Wake him? Why?”

“I want to go over a few things with him.”

This got Donna’s attention. She looked up from her book. “What do you want to talk to him about?” She nodded at the note pad Charlie was holding. “What’s that?”

“I want to talk about the game. I have some ideas for him, some plays I want to go over. I found all this great stuff online. Great plays and everything. Might help.”

Donna gave one of her sideways glances to nobody.

“There are some things he could work on,” Charlie continued. “He has to use his size more. He’s big for a guard and I think he should post up. Take advantage of his size against smaller guards.”

“Post up.”

“Yeah, post up. You take the ball and, you know, you post up. You take the ball one-on-one—” Charlie stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Come in here and shut the door.”

“Why?”

“Come in and please shut the door.”

Charlie slowly walked into the room and obediently shut the door behind him, hugging his legal pad close to his chest.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked.

“Don’t overdo this, okay?”

“I just want to talk to him.”

“I thought you already talked to him after the game.”

“I want to talk to him some more.”

“And I think you might want to leave him alone.”

“Why? Is something wrong? Is he okay?”

“He’s been playing basketball a long time.”

“So?”

“So, don’t do too much too soon. You can’t make up all the lost time in one night, okay? He’ll resent it.”

“What do you mean? Why would he resent it?”

“Because he’s been playing basketball since he was ten years old, by himself, out in the driveway while you were gone. He practiced for hours. Hours. He’s been on teams before. He’s been to camps. But you weren’t there. You were never there. So I wouldn’t try to be his best friend too fast when it comes to this, okay? That’s my advice.”

“I went to some of his games.”

“The last game you went to, he was in sixth grade.”

“No way, that’s wrong, totally wrong.” Charlie paused and thought about this. “Really? How do you know that?”

“He told me. He said the last time you saw him play, he was twelve years old. He remembers things like that.”

“He said that?” Charlie felt all the energy seep out of him. He glanced at the diagrams on his pad, the post-up moves, his summary of the motion offense. “He told you that?”

“Yes.”

Charlie shook his head, deflated. “All right. Okay. Maybe you’re right.” He was turning to leave, retreat to the guest room, when Donna said, “He was pretty good, though, huh?”

Charlie turned right back around. “He was amazing.”

Donna finally smiled. “He really was.”

“It’s weird, but that’s probably the proudest I’ve ever been of anything in my life,” Charlie said. “That meant more than anything, anything. I never thought I could be proud of something that I didn’t do or wasn’t, you know, involved in. It’s weird. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m, like, shaking.”

Donna studied Charlie, her face blank. “Well, he’s sleeping now, but you can talk to him tomorrow,” she said. “I’m sure he’d like to hear that.”

Charlie thought he detected a change in her voice, a softening, but it was fleeting, gone before it was really there. He offered up a small smile.

“All right, then. Good night, then,” he said.

Donna held his gaze for a second longer, then slowly returned to her book. “Good night, Charlie.”

The next afternoon, slick-looking Jason, the managing director of the office, gave a talk about collecting unemployment pay. He walked through the procedure, then passed out a brochure offering information as well as a map identifying the various unemployment offices in the Chicago area. Charlie refused to take one of the brochures when they came his way.

“There’s nothing embarrassing about collecting unemployment,” Jason said. He was a thirtysomething man, tall and lean, with gelled-up jet-black hair and a permanent tan. “You’ve earned this, ladies and gentlemen. Earned this.”

Charlie felt Jason’s eyes on him. He looked down and checked his cell phone.

“It might not be much, but it helps,” Jason said. “Now is not the time to be too proud.”

Charlie looked up and saw Jason staring at him. He slipped his phone in his pocket, coughed once, then slowly reached across the table and took a brochure from the pile.

While he was reviewing the map—he noted that there wasn’t any unemployment office near Wilton—Jason launched into an overly rehearsed tale about an executive, a former senior financial officer and client of Rogers & Newman, who had been out of work for an extended period of time.

“How long is extended?” Bradley asked.

Jason sucked in his cheeks and thought about this. “Almost a year.”

Bradley’s face fell.

“Oh, longer than that, much longer,” Ned said. He had been leaning against a wall in the back of the room, but jerked to attention at Bradley’s question.

“How much longer?” Bradley asked.

“I’m not sure. But much longer than a year.”

Bradley bravely nodded.

According to Jason, this nameless executive was rejected dozens of times over the course of his search, but stayed focused on a clear and specific vision. He wanted to work in mergers and acquisitions, he wanted to work in New York City, and he wanted to be the “main man.” Jason didn’t elaborate on exactly what being the “main man” was, and no one asked.

“And he made it,” Jason said, pointing. “He became the main man. He used all the tools at his disposal, he used all his resources. He swallowed his pride, stood in line at the unemployment office, leveraged relationships. But most importantly…” He paused and took in the room with fierce green eyes. “Most importantly, he had a clearly defined image of who he was and where he wanted to be. In other words, he visualized his success. And now he’s living it. As the head of M&A at an international bank.”

“In New York?” Karen asked.

Jason glanced at Ned, who was still in the back, nodding inspirationally.

“Well, no, actually,” Ned said. “He lives in Guam. But he travels to New York very frequently.”

“Very frequently,” Jason said. “Very frequently.”

Jason and Ned fell silent so their words and nods could sink in.

“Does anyone have any reaction to that story?” Ned asked. “Anyone care to comment?”

“Where’s Guam?” Karen asked.

“It’s in the Pacific,” Ned said. “Very nice. It’s a U.S. protectorate, I think. Which is very nice.”

No one else said anything. Charlie pretended to study the unemployment map again. Bradley sneezed and someone muttered, “Bless you.” Jason pulled out his BlackBerry, peered at it, then immediately left the room without a word.

“Well,” Ned said. “I think Jason’s story underscores the importance of developing and maintaining a vision. It’s essential that everyone here visualizes their success. It’s critical, in fact. So critical that we’re all going to spend a few minutes working on that right now.”

“Oh, God,” Walter mumbled. “Not this.”

“I heard that, Walter,” Ned said. He clapped his hands, smiling. “Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar with this exercise, we call it Future Perfect, we want you to spend a few minutes envisioning, picturing, where you would like to be in five years. Now, don’t be afraid to dream big. We want you to think of the perfect position for yourself. The absolute perfect position. Get wild and get creative. Provide details.” He rubbed his hands together. “Give us the nitty-gritty. All of it. What’s your office going to look like? Who will be working with you? What are your perks? Will you have an office with a window? A company car? What kind of company car? Does it have an FM radio?”

“A what?” Bradley asked.

“In a perfect, absolutely perfect future, what would you be doing?”

Ned passed out pencils and legal pads of paper. “You can add personal details too,” he said. “Describe your family life. Paint an accurate and colorful picture. Hopefully, when you’re done, a few of you can share your visions.”

Everyone stared at the pads of paper, then shot embarrassed glances at each other. There was a larger-than-usual group in the room, about fifteen people, and the lack of enthusiasm over Future Perfect was palpable. Ned smiled nervously. “Come on, now, this is fun. It’s your chance to dream. No limits! Paint that picture so you can hang it over your mental mantel. It will serve as a goal, a reminder of where you want to be. Come on, now!” He punched the air with his fist and smiled harder, his square head radiating hope.

Karen started to write. Soon, pretty much everyone but Walter was doing the same. Charlie picked up his pen, stared at the blank page before him, then gently rubbed his tongue along the inside of his prosthesis. He was surprised how natural it now felt.

Ned circled around the room like a schoolteacher, hands behind his back, checking on everyone’s progress. He naturally stopped behind Karen, glanced over her shoulder, and chuckled along with his prized student. “Excellent,” he said. “Quite excellent.” He next made his way over to Charlie at the very end of the table and hovered.

“Writer’s block Charlie?”

Just to annoy him, Charlie quickly wrote,
I WANT TO WORK AT XANON AND MAKE FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND.

“But will you be happy?” Ned asked.

Charlie turned to a new page and wrote,
NED LOVES KAREN!!!

Ned quickly walked on.

Rather than visualizing his perfect future, Charlie began to develop a list of questions he needed to ask Ted Greene. He wanted to discuss his compensation, specifically stock options. After his experience at D&H, he didn’t want them to be a significant part of his pay or bonus structure. In addition, he wanted to know about a car allowance, something he should have had but was denied at D&H.

He worked on this until Ned said, “Pencils down.” He was standing in front of the room in his sharp blue blazer, smiling excitedly, a game show host leading the bonus round. “Anyone want to share?” he asked.

No one said anything.

“Walter? How about you?”

Walter blankly stared at him.

“Right,” Ned said. He turned to Bradley. “And how about you, Bradley? Do you mind sharing what you wrote?”

“I didn’t write much.”

“What do you have? Anything would help us get started.”

Bradley shrugged. He readjusted some reading glasses and brought the pad up close to his face. “I want to head a department, a large marketing department. In an international company. I want to stay here, live in Chicago. I want to be involved in all marketing matters, from conception to execution.”

“Very good,” Ned said. “Anything else?”

Bradley put the pad down. “I want a big office and an even bigger salary.”

“Can you be more specific? What does your office look like?”

“Office A,” he said.

Everyone laughed at this. Ned clapped, obviously pleased. He pointed and winked. “Spot on, Bradley.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Karen said. She was sitting next to Bradley and had been exchanging whispers and giggles with him throughout the meeting. Apparently, Bradley had forgiven Karen for her crack about his orange face. “I will be vice president of communications for a large international company,” she began.

Ned interrupted. “What company?”

“A large consumer company. Automotive, maybe.”

“Au. To. Mo. Tive?” Ned asked.

“I will travel all over the world, overseeing communications for the company. The annual report, external and internal communications, special events, media relations.” She stopped and glanced sideways at Ned. “You said make stuff up, right?”

“Yes,” Ned said. “Well, visualize.”

“I’ll have a staff of between ten and fifteen people. I’ll have my department divided into three groups so I can have just three direct reports. That’s manageable, I think.”

“I think that’s the ideal structure,” Ned said.

Karen paused. “You said do personal stuff too, right?”

Ned’s eyes blazed with eagerness. “Oh, yes. Absolutely. By all means.”

“I will also have an anthology of my short stories published and be married and have children,” she said. “Two children. Two girls. Maybe twins.”

Ned’s eyes drifted. “Two girls,” he said, his voice dreamlike.

“We’ll have a house overlooking a lake, maybe.”

“A lake, yes,” Ned said.

“We’ll face west, so we can watch the sunset together. And my husband will be a great cook.”

“A great cook,” Ned said. “Is that important to you? His being a great cook?”

“Not as important as what he looks like,” she said.

Everyone laughed and a heavyset woman by the door applauded and said, “You go, girl.” Ned smiled, but sadly. “I hope that dream comes true. All of it,” he said.

“So do I,” Karen said. “Believe me.”

They were all still laughing a little when Walter said, “I want to matter again.” Everyone turned toward him. He was sitting opposite Charlie, at the end of the long table, his hands clasped behind his head. “That’s all I want,” he said. “I want to matter.” His eyes were closed and he was leaning back in his chair.

“Of course you do. Of course you do,” Ned said quietly. “That’s a fundamental need.”

Walter continued. “I want to get up in the morning and have someplace to go. I want to feel like I’m doing something. And at the end of the day, I want to come home tired.” He put his arms down and opened his eyes. His face was expressionless. “I want to matter,” he said again.

The room was quiet. Ned cleared his throat. “But you matter now. Of course you do. We all matter.”

Walter smirked, and slowly scanned the room, eventually stopping at Ned. “I’m not going to come back here,” he said. “This is my last day. You’re not going to see me again.” He waved a hand. “I have to go. This is my last day, forever. I can’t stay here anymore and do this.”

He stood and headed toward the door without glancing back.

“Walter, wait,” Ned said. He moved toward Walter.

Walter brushed past him. “I have to go,” he said. He hitched his shoulder one last time and left the room.

After the meeting, Bradley followed Charlie back to his office. Once they were inside, Bradley said, “That Walter is out of it.”

“Yeah, he’s in pretty bad shape.” Charlie sat down, turned on his computer. Walter’s farewell address had put him in a pensive, bordering-on-depressed mood and he wanted to be alone.

Bradley, oblivious, plopped down on a chair and put his size-fourteen wing tips up on Charlie’s desk. “He’s snapping,” he said. “I’ve seen this before. He’s going jungle. Been out in the bush too long. People disappear inside themselves. He’s been out in the bush too long.”

“Yeah, well.” Charlie started to check for e-mails. One of Bradley’s shoes, he noticed, had a small hole in it, near the toes.

“He hasn’t even been out as long as I have,” Bradley said. “Plus, I think he’s got some health issues.”

“I think it’s his wife who has the issues.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Bradley shook his head and wiggled his shoes. “Man, it’s a long road. Long road.”

“Tell me about it.”

Bradley laughed. “Get off it. You’ve barely been out.”

“Been out long enough.”

“Yeah, it’s a long road,” Bradley said again. “But I think I’m finally close.”

“Good for you.” Charlie didn’t bother to ask Bradley where he was getting close to. He knew. Earlier that morning, before the networking meeting, he had overheard Ned tell Jason in the kitchen that Bradley was in talks with a local hospital. The job was in marketing, sounded midlevel, might pay $85,000, tops, and had cubicle written all over it. He glanced again at the small hole in Bradley’s shoe, repressed a shudder, then squinted at his computer screen. He once again had no e-mails.

“Do you have anything going on?” Bradley asked. “I thought you said you might.”

“What? Yeah, I might. I do.”

“Good for you too,” Bradley said. “Where?”

“What?” he asked. He was distracted. The Wizard was supposed to have sent him some more background info on Xanon and he wondered why he hadn’t. He was usually very good at follow-up.

“Where are you looking?” Bradley asked again. “Who you talking to?”

“Oh, ah, Xanon,” he said absentmindedly, still thinking about the wizard.

“The drug company?”

Charlie clicked off his e-mail. “What? Yeah.”

“Xanon? Really? How did you hear about that?” Bradley asked. He was sitting up now, shoes back on the floor.

“Recruiter.”

Bradley sounded so surprised that Charlie realized what he had done. He shouldn’t have told Bradley about Xanon. He had clearly one-upped him and his local hospital job. “That’s a big company. What’s the job for?” Bradley asked.

“Head of marketing,” Charlie mumbled.

“CMO?”

“Yeah.”

Bradley sat quietly for a few seconds, then said, “I heard it’s kind of a strange place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hear strange things about it.”

“What do you mean, strange?”

“Old-fashioned. Backwards. Very conservative place. You don’t seem like a conservative kind of guy.”

“They’re changing. Besides, I can be conservative on what they’re paying.”

“They pay a lot?”

“So I’m told,” Charlie said. He opened the side drawer of his desk and pretended to search for something. He was starting to feel embarrassed and wanted Bradley to leave.

“That Woods is the CEO there, isn’t he?” Bradley asked. “Kevin F.?”

Charlie closed the drawer, then picked up his unemployment brochure, crumpled it up, and dropped it in the wastebasket under his desk. “Kevin F. Woods. Yeah.”