The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (28 page)

“Supposed to be an asshole. I don’t know, Charlie. You may want to think about that.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“You haven’t even been out that long. You sure you want to take that job?”

“Absolutely, I’m sure. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

Charlie looked hard at Bradley. “Come on, you wouldn’t take that job?”

“I honestly don’t know if I would.”

Charlie had a hard time believing this. Bradley had a hole in his shoe and here he was claiming he wouldn’t take a job that might pay close to half a million with bonus.

“You’re serious?” he asked. “You wouldn’t take the job?”

Before Bradley could answer, Ned raced in. “Have you seen Walter?”

“No,” Charlie said. “Why?”

Ned’s face was predictably red. “We need to help him,” he said breathlessly. “I think he left. We need to reach out to him.”

“Maybe it’s time to leave him alone,” Charlie said.

“He shouldn’t be alone right now. His words, this is my last day, forever. I think he’s in a bad place right now. A very bad place.”

At this, Bradley exploded. “You know something, Ned? You worry too much. And you know something else? You drive everyone fucking nuts. You’re like…like our mothers. Our goddamn mothers. And I already have a goddamn mother who’s about to get kicked out of assisted living because I can’t pay her fucking bill!” With that, he stood up and stormed out.

Ned looked at Charlie shaken, his eyes immense and hurt. “Now, what’s wrong with him?”

Charlie shrugged.

Ned shook his head. “I’m afraid this isn’t shaping up to be a very good day,” he said. “I thought it might, but it’s just not.”

Charlie spent the rest of the afternoon idly surfing more job sites. He called home twice, but got no answer. He wondered where Donna was. When he tried her cell, his call went straight into voice mail. This naturally worried him. He considered going home, but instead pushed his concerns out of his mind and set about preparing a cover letter to the Midwest Parks and Recreation Association. When he was finished, he sent it off to them, along with his résumé.

The Wizard finally e-mailed the background on Xanon near the end of the day. Charlie’s relief over getting the information quickly gave way to despair when he opened the document. He groaned. It was some type of position paper from the American Association of Swine Veterinarians. Charlie attempted to read it.

Charlie read that sentence over twice, said, “Finisher pigs,” out loud, then clicked out of the document. He then Googled Kevin F. Woods.

The Xanon Web site had the most information: fifty-two years old; a graduate of University of Oklahoma, where he starred as an All–Big Twelve offensive lineman; the obligatory MBA from an Ivy League school, this one Penn; a thousand-acre cattle ranch outside of Tulsa. He was married, had two grown children, was an avid “outdoorsman” (i.e., hunter), and looked exactly like John Wayne.

Charlie scrutinized the photo and tried to imagine spending the rest of his career reporting to a man who, no doubt, would have bullied him in high school. Of course, Ted Greene seemed to be doing well enough there, and he hardly seemed the John Wayne type. He gazed at the photo a little longer—so much depends on this man, this stranger, he thought—then clicked off his computer and stared at the blank screen.

He left the office around six. It was raining and cold, and getting to the parking lot was an ordeal. The wind was howling and he had to walk straight into it, his shoulders low, his head thrust forward. He hadn’t bothered to wear a raincoat, and by the time he made it to the Navigator, he was drenched. As he was reaching in his pocket for the keys, he spotted Walter in a nearby parking space peering into the open hood of a drab, olive-colored minivan. He had his back to Charlie.

Charlie slipped into the Navigator and slunk low in his seat and waited. To get to the exit, he would have to pass directly in front of Walter, who apparently was stranded. Charlie was trapped.

He remained in the slunk-down position in his soggy clothes for a short eternity, waiting for Walter to finally get the van started. After about ten minutes, he finally decided enough was enough and turned the key in the ignition. Then he switched it off, got out of the Navigator, and walked over to Walter.

He was now sitting inside the van, loudly grinding the engine, which refused to turn over. Charlie cupped his hands to the side of his mouth and yelled, “You’re going to wreck your car,” over the wind and noise.

Walter looked up, very unsurprised and unimpressed by Charlie’s presence. He resumed the grinding with renewed vigor. Charlie knocked on his window.

“You want to use my phone and call a tow truck?”

Walter lowered his window. “What?”

Charlie held up his phone. “You want to call a tow truck?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine.” Charlie walked back to the Navigator and got inside.

It was beginning to sleet now, wet splats of snow and rain pelting the windshield, a Chicago specialty. Charlie turned on his wipers, sat there, then got out and walked back over to Walter’s van.

He knocked hard on his window and when Walter lowered it, he said, “I’m sorry I fired you, okay? I don’t even remember doing it, you were a name on a list, but I’m sorry I did. And I’m sorry about your wife. It’s shitty. The whole thing is shitty, okay? But I don’t hate you or…or hope bad things happen to you. I don’t, okay? I’m just another idiot trying to get through another day.”

Charlie stopped here, breathing heavily. He thought he was through with his little speech, but he wasn’t. “Oh, wait, I almost forgot, wait. You’ll love this. This is the best part.” He pinched the prosthesis out of his mouth with his index finger and his thumb and held it out toward Walter. “Look at this.” He smiled broadly to reveal his teeth.

Up until that point, Walter had been doing an admirable job of ignoring him, staring straight ahead with both hands on the wheel of his dead van. But the carnival-barker tone of Charlie’s voice must have piqued some curiosity, because he slowly turned to look him fully in the face. That’s when he gasped. It was the first time he had ever looked at Charlie with anything but contempt.

“Jesus Christ,” he said.

Charlie smiled even wider. “Pretty neat, huh? I fell down the stairs after I took Valium. I bet the Gap wouldn’t even hire me.” He put the prosthesis back in his mouth. “Now, you want to call a tow truck or what?”

Walter turned away.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m going.” Out of tricks, Charlie once again trudged back to the Navigator.

“I called the towing service three hours ago,” he heard Walter say.

Charlie stopped, turned. “What?” he yelled.

“Been sitting here three hours.”

Charlie put his hands in his pants pocket and stamped his feet. The sleet was turning into full-fledged snow, thick and heavy, and it was clinging to his clothes. “Where do you live?” he asked.

“Beverly.”

Charlie nodded. “I used to live there.”

“You did?”

“I’ll take you home. Come on.”

“That’s a pretty long way. I can take the train, maybe.”

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

Walter didn’t budge. He looked scared, his hands still gripping the steering wheel.

“Listen, it’s snowing and everything, I’m wet, and I’m going. You’re the one who’s stuck here, not me.” Charlie once again got back in the Navigator and flipped the heat on high. But when Walter opened his passenger door and asked if he could take along a few boxes of files, Charlie stepped back out into the snow and wind and helped him load up his things.

The next two hours were a case study in awkwardness. Walter conveniently spent most of the time on hold with various towing companies while Charlie pretended to focus on the traffic and weather. It wasn’t until after Walter had finally gotten through to a service and made new arrangements that Charlie finally spoke. “Pretty bad out there,” he said.

“Yeah. Pretty bad.”

Walter sniffled and Charlie countered with a cough. He considered turning on the radio, until he realized it was on. He switched lanes, then switched back. Traffic was predictably a mess, every inch hard-fought.

“Man, it’s bad out,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, it’s bad.”

They drove on in silence, Charlie regretting his offer. If he had just kept his mouth shut or had parked on a different level in the garage, he would have been halfway home by now, not stuck on the Dan Ryan Expressway with a man who made no secret of loathing him.

Charlie tried again. “So,” he said. “How’s the search going?”

“What search?” Although he couldn’t see Walter’s face, Charlie assumed his question had prompted a smirk. “I have nothing going on. Nothing. I need a break from it. I think I need a break from everything.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Walter looked out the passenger window and said, “Did you hear about Citicorp? All those layoffs?”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“I know a guy there. I bet he’s gone next week.”

“Bet he’s already gone.” Charlie switched lanes again.

“Where the hell is everyone going to end up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nowhere.”

They drove a little farther. After they had come to another stop, Walter said, “I’m looking at going into business for myself. I think that might be the only way to go.”

“Really? What are you looking at?”

“An online thing. Sell pet clothes online. Kind of like Amazon, but for dogs and cats. It’s a long shot.” He turned to face Charlie. “What do you think about that?” he asked.

Charlie was surprised that his opinion was being solicited. He took his time answering. “Pet clothes,” he said. “What kind of clothes?”

“I don’t know. Sweaters, mostly. You know, booties for Snowball. Scarves.”

It didn’t sound promising, but Charlie held his tongue. “I don’t know much about that category. Have you done any research? Are there other companies doing this?”

“Yeah, a few. But not many. And no one is really doing it right. If we market it right, it could take off. The clothes are pretty nice. Good-quality stuff. A guy I know wants me to go in on it with him. He has a source, a company that makes these clothes. In Mexico. Small company. They don’t know anything about distribution or marketing. He wants me to go down there and take a look at it, but I don’t have time. I’m putting in long hours at the Gap and then I got my wife.” He stopped speaking and looked back out his window.

“I was sorry to hear about her. Ned told me.”

“What are you going to do?”

Mention of Walter’s wife plunged them back into a long silence. Walter soon busied himself by inspecting the contents of his overflowing briefcase. Charlie checked his voice mail, which he knew had no messages, then turned the radio up higher.

As they were pulling off the expressway, Charlie asked, “What’s your address?”

When Walter told him, Charlie was stunned. “That’s a block from our house, from where we used to live, I mean. How long have you lived there?”

“I don’t know. Twenty-five years.”

Charlie’s amazement grew. He did some figuring. “Then we must have lived a block from each other for about twenty years. Longer, even. We moved about three, four years ago.”

They both let this register. “That’s weird,” Walter finally said.

“Yeah, it is. We’re going to drive right by my old house.”

“That’s weird,” Walter said again.

A few minutes later, they turned down Damen Avenue. “That’s it. That’s our house,” he said. He slowed, then stopped, surprised at the emotions the brick colonial elicited.

“You lived there?” Walter asked.

“Yeah. I did. I lived here.” He stared at the house. “We lived here,” he said softly.

“That’s really weird.”

“Yeah, I know, we were so close.”

“No. I mean, I was there, at your house.”

“What do you mean?” Charlie turned to face him. He wasn’t sure he had heard Walter correctly. “What are you talking about?”

“Was your wife…is your wife’s name Donna? Does she have black hair? Real”—he made a circular motion with his hand—“curly?”

“How do you know my wife?”

“Through school. PTA or something. I went there for meetings. I liked her. She was the only one who knew what was going on.”

“Wait a minute, you were at my house?
Inside
my house?” Charlie pointed. “
That
house?”

“Yeah.”

The image of Walter sitting in his house, standing in his house, breathing the air in his house, was inconceivable. “That’s unbelievable,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, I was there a few times.”

“A
few
times? And you didn’t know it was my house?”

“How would I know that? I never saw you there or anything. I might not have even known you.”

“When was it?”

“I don’t know. A while ago. Six, seven years ago, maybe longer. I don’t remember exactly.”

“Unbelievable.”

Walter shook his head and actually laughed. “Donna Baker. I never made the connection.” His voice sounded different—alive, excited.

“That’s unbelievable,” Charlie said again.

“Yeah, it is.” Walter was actually smiling, not smirking. “Do me a favor. Tell her Walter Konkist says hello. Walter Konkist.”

“I know your name, Walter.” Charlie pulled away from the house and headed down the block. The snow had lightened, but the wind was still fierce. He could feel the Navigator straining as he drove into it.

“She’s a nice woman,” Walter said. “Good-looking too.”

“Thank you.”

“I said she was good-looking, not you.”

“Anything close to a compliment, I’ll take.”

Walter pointed. “That’s it. Over there. Third one from the end. Better not go in the driveway, you might get stuck.”

Charlie pulled up in front of a tidy brick Georgian, its roof already submerged in snow. It was dark with the exception of a single porch light. Walter stared silently at the house before unbuckling his seat belt.