“I have friends with kids in the Ivy League and other private schools, and they really abuse the alcohol and drugs, like the kids do in the state colleges. Its bad stuff and it doesn’t discriminate. The Ivy League is for the cream of the crop, but a regular college is for rest of the crop. Go to any college, into any field you want, just make sure its something you are good at and you will find a way to make money. Any questions?”
“I’m not sure about the public school versus the private school thing.” I took another sip, and the room starting to swing.
“Listen…if you can afford private then go, and if you can’t then don’t. That’s a decision that your family’s circumstances make for you. Real people, in the real world, would never judge people by where they went to college. That’s something that only ivy leaguers do. They like to feel good about themselves by hiring other ivy leaguers, and socializing with people from the same college, but it’s a lot of nonsense. Elitist crap. These blowhards jog with tee shirts that read Yale. What a load of crap. How would they like it if I jogged around wearing a tee shirt with my net worth in bold numbers?”
Bruce leaned back in his chair, cigar in hand. His hair was thick and slicked back, his skin tanned, and he looked the very essence of success.
“This is going to sound silly,” my guard was down from all the booze. “I play guitar, I actually play it very well, and I’m not sure if I should pursue a career in music or go to college.”
“David, why not do both? Why limit yourself? I’ve never heard you play guitar, so I really do not know if you have any talent. But why not audition, write music, join a band, and still take come classes. Nothing has to be one or the other. Any other questions?” Bruce placed is hands behind his head, and propped his feet up on the desk.
“Any advice on women?”
“Don’t marry an actress, too much drama.” Bruce chuckled to himself. “Women get a little crazier every year you spend with them. Men get more boring in return.” He poured us both another scotch, and then glanced out the window, his back toward me.
“I’ll tell you this in all seriousness. Be careful who you date, and who you have a long term relationship with. Women, and some men, are changed by everyone they are with. Whenever a woman is with a man, whether it’s for one night or for ten years, her soul changes, her emotional stability changes. It’s like watching a flower being pollinated by insects. Like an asteroid colliding with another asteroid. There are some impacts that last forever. When I was younger, I met a woman and we had one date, just a single cup of coffee. She was gorgeous, and nothing else ever transpired, but I can still remember every word she uttered, every time she looked at me, and what she wore, and even her smell. I can remember every freckle, and every time her eyes lit up. I can’t recall anything about what happened last week, but this woman, thirty years ago, Wow! Her image is embedded in my soul. I’ve known a lot of women and I’m not saying this to brag. I can see it on their faces. Women keep secrets, but it’s always the same secret. They never stop thinking about the men they’ve been with, and they always wonder what if things had been different. You can always find a woman sipping a cup of hot tea while picturing her life differently. I don’t want to lump all women in that category; I would never do that. I am speaking generally. For example, if a woman is quiet and lost in deep thought, I guarantee you she’s thinking about a man from her past or a decision that she wishes she could reverse. Women are complicated and their complications get more complex each year.”
I drank the rest of my scotch, not really having any input into the conversation. It wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.
“Your best bet is to find a woman with as much experience in love as you have. Someone a lot more experienced will tie a harness around your neck and steer you like a mule.” Bruce became lost in thought for a minute, and then returned to the conversation.
“The world is changing faster now than ever before. Look at the protests in China and in Georgia, Russia. There is outrage at oppressive governments. Something like that probably would never have surfaced ten years ago. Governments are unable to keep how they treat their citizens a secret. Communism is slowly changing to capitalism, but the real change is how unacceptable it is becoming for a government to repress and massacre its own people. There’s probably going to be a lot of jobs created by the changes, for Americans, to either go overseas to work or something similar. The American economy is bleeding, David. Manufacturing jobs are going overseas, and I don’t see that changing. Engineering jobs are vanishing. Once America starts bleeding, it may not stop. And it’s not just the economy that’s changing. Look at this Exxon Valdez spill. Its an outrage – fifteen years ago, people wouldn’t have cared as much about the wildlife and the environmental impact of anything like this. The environment’s going to be important in the future. We’re just starting to discuss Global Warming, but this issue is not about to go away. It’s going to impact everything. And in the business world, things are changing fast with computers. The way we do things is outdated and being replaced by new technology. Look at my desk, I have three phones on it, and I have a beeper. I fax things now that I would’ve waited for in the mail. It’s really unbelievable. I just bought something called a cellular phone, take a look.” Bruce handed me a rather large gray phone, it was about eighteen inches long and weighed nearly three pounds.
“With this phone, I will be able to call anyone from anywhere. It’s going to be the next big fad.” Bruce reached out for the cellular phone.
“I’m sure that’s just for rich people,” I said.
“That’s what everyone said about television and now every house has one. Some people even have two.” Bruce was having another scotch, and suggested that I have one as well. I declined, I was already feeling drunk.
“Try not to pick a career based on what will be hot in ten years, because things change fast. Look, if you’re interested in something, and good at it, there’s probably a future in it worth researching. Like your guitar playing. If you love playing the guitar, then pursue it.” There was a long pause of silence when Bruce stopped talking.
“This is some office,” I said.
“You probably think that I have the best life and you would love to trade places with me?” Bruce spoke in a strange tone.
“Yes, I have to admit, it has crossed my mind.”
“Fine. Let’s trade seats.” Bruce stood up and walked over to me, and I then sat in his big hunter green leather chair behind his desk. It was luxurious; the leather was soft as butter, and I definitely liked the view from his side of the room. I felt powerful. I felt strong.
“How does it feel?” he asked.
“Really great,” I said.
“Look up.”
In the ceiling directly above my head was a large, sharp, metal sword that I had not previously noticed. It seemed to be held up by nothing, just air, and I gulped, thinking that if this sword fell on top of me, it would slice me in half like an orange.
“What’s holding it up?” I asked.
“Ten pound fishing line…It’s an 11 pound sword,” Bruce said.
“You mean it’s barely being held up?”
“That’s right. It could fall at any time. Beware the sword of Damocles.”
We shook hands and he thanked me for coming. I thanked him for the advice, and the scotch. I went back to the party thinking that I just had the most important conversation of my life. Delancey was looking for me and waved in my direction. Sam was jealous that I had a closed door conversation with Bruce.
“How did it go?” Delancey asked.
“Awesome. Just awesome. He’s quite a guy, with great advice, and a lot of knowledge and insight. I think it was the best conversation I’ve ever had with anyone about my future.”
“Bruce is really great. I keep threatening my father than I am going to change my last name to Bruce’s last name, Yuridis. It keeps my father in line.” We held hands and strolled in the back yard for a few minutes.
Sam’s father was waiting outside. I said goodbye to Delancey and Bruce. Her mother waved goodbye from a distance. I didn’t say more than two words to her mother all night. Sam was annoyed when I gave Delancey a warm embrace and a kiss on the lips.
On the way back home, I talked non-stop about what a great party it was. Sam was speaking Farsi to his father, although his father’s English was flawless from what I remembered.
“My father doesn’t want us going back to Central Park. He says it’s too dangerous,” Sam relayed back to me. “He wants us to promise that we will not go back.”
“A woman was beaten and raped by a gang of thugs in Central Park this week. New York is very dangerous, and you have a bright future. Don’t ever go back.” Sam’s father was adamant about it.
Sam’s father did not know about last weekend’s events in Central Park, and how close we came to getting our heads blown off. He would be greatly alarmed and probably lock Sam in the house if he’d known.
That night, I stayed awake for a few minutes thinking about Delancey and my conversation with Bruce. Sam was always jealous and annoyed when anything good happened in my life. What kind of a friend was that anyway? I thought about the woman that had been attacked in Central Park, and I wondered if she was attacked by the same thugs we confronted last weekend. If my gun had bullets, and I had shot these hoodlums, would that woman have been left alone?
Chapter 19
I went to work at the café the next morning with a terrible headache. Scotch and wine are not a good mix. Shesha and I talked while we worked. Shesha loved American women. I told him that I was at a party with a really nice American girl the night before in Long Island. I explained that she was just a friend.
“I don’t understand this American concept of having a female friend. In Pakistan, there is no reason to have female friends. If you like a girl, you sneak into her house and try to have sex with her. Here in America, sex is allowed, and all you do is talk on the phone, go out in public, but remain friends. I just don’t understand this country. In this country, the women like to have sex, and everything is in the open, and you are still a virgin. Explain that to me!” Shesha yelled. Christine had just arrived and started laughing.
Shesha saw that I was embarrassed and he yelled at her to get back to work.
“In Pakistan, when men are talking, the women know better than to interrupt.”
There were many tourists and the day moved quickly with dozens of customers coming in every hour. Finally a lull came around eleven o’clock. Shesha told us to clean up and restock. Christine turned on the radio and started dancing. Shesha was watching with baited breath and biting his lower lip. It became embarrassingly apparent that he was aroused by Christine’s dancing.
I asked Christine to show me some dance moves for the April Dance. Shesha threw wet sponges at us and yelled “Get back to work!” We were all laughing. It was a lot of fun working at the café that day.
At quitting time, I walked to the subway with Christine. “Have you heard from Eddie Lo?” I asked.
“I did. He is in hiding, but he is okay,” she said. “The rival gang from the pool hall wants him dead.”
I practiced some dance moves at home, and Harry laughed at how bad I was. He gave me some pointers.
The day of the April Dance came, and I decided not to wear my Greek night club outfit. I went casual, as nervous as could be. Svetlana and I agreed to meet at the gym after school. Sam was planning on attending the dance against his parents’ wishes. He had a rough weekend after letting it slip about the situation in Central Park. His parents freaked out and wanted him home immediately after school, without delay.
I stopped by the school’s newspaper office to check on whether the writers had turned in their assignments. Doreen was working on the paper, disheveled as usual, and not dressed for the dance.
“Are you going to the dance?” I asked.
“Why would I go to the dance? I have too much work to do.” She looked down, and although her long scraggly hair covered her face, I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was unhappy.
“Is every thing okay?” I asked.
Doreen never lifted her head, never raised her eyes, but when she said “fine” I instantly knew she was upset.
I remained silent, pretending to look over the articles, while waiting for more of a response from Doreen. A few minutes went by; she lifted her head. She had stopped crying.
“David, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No one asked me to the dance. No one asks me to anything. I feel like I’m invisible in this school. It’s just a stupid dance, but it sums up four years of high school for me. Invisible. I’m not part of the in crowd, and I’m not even part of the out crowd. I’m part of no crowd.” She wiped her tears, and walked out of the room.
Part of me felt that she was to blame for not trying to be more social, for being too engulfed in the school paper. I also knew that it wasn’t her fault. High school is a strange time in a person’s life. It was difficult to be friends with someone as intense and tightly wound as Doreen. At an elite college, with type A personalities, she would likely make a lot of friends.
Mr. Mash made an announcement warning against inappropriate dancing. Everyone in the hallways that heard the message laughed and gyrated their hips.