The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (31 page)

They flew for a while. Charlie began to think that he was in the clear when the man said, “I’m a fireman from Queens. Used to be one, I should say. I’m retired. I was visiting my daughter in Chicago. I liked Chicago.”

Charlie’s heart sank. There was a code of silence in first-class that apparently did not apply in coach. Since he didn’t want to be overtly rude—the man seemed nice enough—Charlie said, “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Say, do you think they’ll feed us on this flight?”

Charlie glanced up and down the aisle and saw the drink cart approaching. “I don’t think they feed us…” He paused and bitterly added, “Back here.”

“That’s too bad. I’m a little hungry. Say, do you make commercials?”

Charlie rubbed his sinuses. “Yes.”

The man said, “You know what my favorite commercials were? The one with all the celebrities wearing the capes. They were flying around. They used to be on all the time. You know the ones? A few years back?”

Charlie ceased his massage in mid-rub and finally looked over at the man. “What are you talking about? You mean”—he stopped, then said, “the Bagel Man commercials?”

“Yes.” The man snapped his finger and smiled. “They were about bagels, and those delis, yes. They were so funny. Did you like those commercials too?”

“I made them.”

The man was astonished. His mouth dropped wide open. “You did not.”

“I did so.”

“Why, I feel like I’m sitting next to a celebrity!”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Charlie closed the magazine. He noticed that the drink cart was upon them.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

It turned out that Rob Rosenfeld, the intelligent, insightful retired fireman from Queens in New York, was a fine seat companion. He was sincere, quiet, and more than happy to hear Charlie discuss his career and life. Rob seemed particularly interested in Charlie’s family and was suitably impressed by Kyle’s basketball exploits.

“Twenty-four points. You must be very proud,” he said.

“Twenty-six,” Charlie said. He finished his first drink. “And yes, I am.”

“Are you two very close?”

“A little. Somewhat. He’s a teenager now, so, you know, it’s tough.”

Rob smiled wistfully. “I always wanted a son. But I have three daughters.”

“Daughters are nice too, I’m sure.”

Charlie talked some more about Kyle and his chances of attending a major college on a basketball scholarship, then went to the bathroom. When he returned, Rob was in the process of buying two more bourbons on the rocks.

“My treat this time,” he said, wagging a finger at Charlie.

“Well, then make it a double,” Charlie said to the flight attendant.

He reclined his seat. The cabin was relatively quiet, most passengers either dozing or reading. The man across the aisle stared transfixed at an Excel chart on his laptop. Charlie sipped his drink and marveled again at that wonderful halting bite bourbon makes in the back of your throat, before sliding down to warm your innards.

“So,” Rob said, “are you going to New York to make a new commercial?” His face was flushed and his wispy gray hair spread out in all directions.

Charlie hesitated. “Can you keep a secret, Bob?”

“Rob,” he said. He smiled. “Sure I can. People say I’m good at that.”

“I’m going for a job interview. I’m…” He hesitated again because the next words still hurt. He whispered, “I’m, well, I’m unemployed.”

“I’m sorry?” Rob leaned in closer, “I couldn’t…”

Charlie leaned in close and whispered again in Rob’s ear. “I’m out of work.”

This confession took a minute to sink in. When it did, Rob looked very thoughtful. “You mean you don’t have a job?” he asked.

“Yes.” Charlie took a long swallow of his drink. “Rob,” he said, “can you keep another secret?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“I’m conflicted.”

Rob looked confused. “Conflicted? Well, I get that way. Raisin Bran sometimes helps. Juice too.”

“No. I mean, I’m not so sure I even want this job. I don’t know if it’s right for me.”

“Oh. Well, why not?”

“I think it will be difficult. I think I’ll be gone a lot too.”

“Gone a lot? Where will you be? New York?”

“Omaha, and in Montana, and in Chile, maybe Australia. Oklahoma, maybe. That’s where our customers are. They’re ranchers and farmers. Plus, I have some concerns about my boss, the guy who would be my boss.”

“Concerns? What kind of concerns?”

“He looks like John Wayne.”

“John Wayne? The actor John Wayne?”

“Yes. Him.”

“Why would that be so bad? I enjoyed his movies. John Wayne’s not so bad.”

“Would you want to work for John Wayne? Think about it. Would you? The Duke?”

“Work for the Duke.” Rob stared at his drink. “He could be a pretty tough customer. I remember him in
The Green Berets
. And all those cowboy movies, those Westerns. He was tough. I remember thinking that.”

“See what I’m saying?”

“Then why are you going?”

“I need a job. I need money. I may not get another offer. I know people who’ve been looking for work for two years. I’m fifty years old. This job pays a lot. I just need a job.”

“Maybe you should think things over. Sleep on it. You might get other chances.”

“Maybe I won’t.”

Rob fooled with his mouth, sucking on his lips. “Times are tough, that’s all you read about. So I guess a man has to do what he has to do, then. A man has to feed his family,” he said.

“That’s what I’m thinking. Can I ask you a question? Did you like your job? Being a fireman, I mean?”

“I liked the people, the other firemen. I was the shortest one in our fire house, so they always looked after me.”

“But did you like the work?”

“You mean putting out the fires? Well,” Rob said, his eyebrows knotted. “At first, oh, sure. But after a while, to be perfectly frank, I didn’t. The smoke, the noise. I always came home wet. I can’t say that I did, no.” He picked up his drink. “Boy, and I spent forty years doing it. I regret that,” he said wistfully.

Charlie looked down at his own drink, and jiggled the ice in his plastic cup. Why was he going to New York? John Wayne? Cattle? Hogs too? Exactly what was he doing? He glanced around the cabin. The plane seemed darker now and he thought he could hear every single passenger on board breathing.

When he got to the hotel, he took a hot shower, the first step in the sobering-up process. Drinking on the flight had been foolish, he knew, but it wasn’t even four o’clock and he had plenty of time to clear his head and go to sleep unencumbered.

After his shower, he called home. That’s when Donna told him that Kyle had broken his ankle in practice and would miss most of the season.

“Jesus Christ! What?”

This news, coupled with his raging indecision about the job (and the three bourbons on the flight), proved too much. He lost it.

“Are you kidding me?” He was sitting naked on the edge of the bed when he yelled this.

“Settle down. He’s okay. He’s fine.”

“Did you take him to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“What did they say?”

“It’s the same one he broke last year. He shouldn’t play for three months. But he might be able to make the state playoffs, if they make it that far.”

“Three months. Jesus! What was he doing? Did someone push him or trip him? Is he there?”

“He’s sitting right here.”

“Put him on.”

There was a rustling on the other end of the line, then Kyle said, “Dad?”

“Hey, buddy. God, I can’t believe it. What happened? Did someone push you, or…or trip you, or what? Be honest. We can call your uncle Sean. He’s a lawyer.”

“No, I came down on it wrong. Why are you yelling?”

Charlie stood up and began pacing the room. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“When I get home, we’ll go to a specialist. Where did you go? What hospital?”

“Um, we went to the one here.”

“Wilton Memorial? Forget that place. Forget it. It’s rinky-dink. We’ll take you downtown to Northwestern. I’ll set it up. I’ll make a few calls.”

“It was okay.”

“Listen, don’t worry about a thing. I’m going to come home as soon as I can, okay? Okay? I’m going to take care of everything. All right? Are you sure you’re not in pain? I don’t want you in pain, okay? You’d tell me if you’re in pain, right? Nothing wrong with saying it hurts. I’m always telling people I hurt and half the time I’m fine.”

“I’m not in pain.”

Charlie was breathing too fast and felt dizzy. Kyle, his son who still had basketball posters on his wall, was hurt and he was in another goddamn hotel room. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, because…because you know I love you. You know that, don’t you? You know that, right? I love you more than anything else! You’re my son and I love you!”

There was a long pause. “Yeah,” he said.

Donna got back on the line. “Are you all right?”

Charlie’s heart and mind raced. “Are you sure he’s okay? Did they take X-rays? An MRI? What?”

“It’s just a broken ankle. Just relax. He’s going to be fine. What’s wrong with you?”

“Who was the doctor? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. He was in the emergency room. He was an ER doctor. Bill. His name was Bill Sarantos.”

“Never heard of him. And I know all the ER doctors. Listen, is he on crutches?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus! Crutches! Kyle is on crutches!”

“Calm down and stop yelling. Are you okay?”

Charlie caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the desk. He was naked and deranged, never a good combination. He took a deep breath. “I’m all right. I’m fine. I’m just tense, that’s all. I haven’t traveled in a while. I’m sorry. I’m just…this job, everything. Is he okay, mood-wise? I mean, this has got to be a real bummer for him. It has to be. How is he taking it?”

“He’s fine. I have to go. Jessica just came over with a pizza.”

“Who? You mean that girl? What’s she doing there? Keep an eye on her. What’s her last name again? I want to Google her, check her out.”

“Good luck tomorrow. Have a good workout or whatever.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Charlie asked, but she was gone.

After the call, he lay in bed, eyes on the ceiling, mind on fire: Kyle, the job, Donna. Then everything stopped and just like that clarity finally found him. In an instant, he knew what he had to do, was supposed to do, wanted to do.

IT CAN BE DONE…AND NOW!

He got dressed, packed his bag, and left the room. If he hurried, he might be able to catch the six o’clock from LaGuardia.

He was standing by the elevator doors, wondering if he had packed any aspirin, when he saw him, a ghost at first, tall and ambling in the shadows. Initially, he didn’t recognize him; the hallway was dim, plus he was so out of context. But as he approached, Charlie saw who it was.

“Bradley?”

Bradley stopped about ten feet short of Charlie, then without saying a word turned on his heels and headed back down the hallway, walking fast.

Charlie followed. “Bradley? What are you doing here? Bradley?” Charlie caught him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait a minute! What the hell are you doing here?”

Bradley turned. “I can’t believe they put us on the same floor.” His face was expressionless.

“What are you talking about? What are you doing here?” But then, of course, Charlie knew. “Xanon,” he said. “You’re here for Xanon, aren’t you? You’re interviewing with them.”

Bradley resumed walking and Charlie pursued him. His anger was rising. He found Bradley’s presence a terrible betrayal. “You’re interviewing for the same job I am, aren’t you? You’re meeting Woods. That’s why Ned was acting so weird and everything. He knew about this.”

Bradley kept walking.

“Answer me!” Charlie tried grabbing him by the shoulder again, but Bradley shrugged him off and continued again down the hall.

“At least say something!” Charlie said. He wasn’t quite yelling, but he was talking loud. “You knew I was going for this job. And you just sat there and said nothing. You even tried to talk me out of it. You said it’s a strange company. You said that!”

Bradley finally whirled around and faced him. Up until that moment, Charlie had not fully appreciated the fact that he was six-foot-four and once played in the Cotton Bowl for the Texas Longhorns. “You go to hell,” Bradley said. “This is my job.
My
job, you understand? I’ve been talking to them for months. Now you come along at the last second and steal it from me. You have no right to do this, no right!”

“You should have at least told me! I told you,” Charlie said. “You lied to me. You sat there and looked me right in the eye and lied to me. You’re a damn liar!”

“And you’re a goddamn asshole who never shuts up!” Bradley pushed Charlie against the wall. “I’ve been out of work two years!
Two
years! Do you have any idea what that’s like? Any fucking idea at all?” Bradley yelled. “I’m eating canned food now.
Canned food!
I used to make three hundred grand a year and I’m eating goddamn fruit cocktail!”

“That’s not the point. The point is that I thought we were friends. We saw each other every day! You could have told me after I told you. You just sat there.”