Red Meat Cures Cancer (19 page)

My little scheme to improve market share had been found out.

“WHAT DO WE WANT?”
“NO MORE PORN!”
“WHEN DO WE WANT IT?”
“NOW!”

The bishop stood frozen at the podium as the marchers made their way down the center aisle and approached the stage.

“Good Lord. This is most unusual. I urge everyone to stay calm.”

“WHAT DO WE WANT?”
“NO MORE PORN!”
“WHEN DO WE WANT IT?”
“NOW!”

The Link immediately blamed me for the mishap, this time rightfully so.

“What the hell is this, Thorne? What are they talking about?”

“I don’t know, Frank,” I lied unconvincingly.

Chaos ruled the afternoon now as the media found itself in a feeding frenzy of religion, pornography and the handicapped. Sister Ancilla pulled out her rosary beads and began praying while placards and chanting continued to fill the air.

“WHAT DO WE WANT?”
“NO MORE PORN!”
“WHEN DO WE WANT IT?”
“NOW!”

Katie Chang Gomez, having picked up on the possibility of Tailburger’s involvement with computer porn, turned her questions to the kids from the Shriner’s Hospital gathered in front.

“Do you kids know anything about Tailburger and its possible involvement in these sex-related computer sites?”

“Sure,” a hunched over boy with a large back brace responded. “They’re sponsoring the Nail Some Tail Sweepstakes
.
”

“Nail some tail?” Chang Gomez asked, her brow furrowed in ludicrously serious journalistic fashion.

“That’s right,” came another debilitated boy. “First prize is a trip to the Lust Ranch out in Nevada for a free date with a hooker.”

“And you all entered this?” Chang Gomez directed the question at the large group who’d been bused out for the dedication.

Nods all around sent a pack of reporters, now in on the story, up onto the stage, rushing to interview the Link.

“Mr. Fanoflincoln, what do you know about Tailburger’s involvement in the pornography business?”

“Get those damn things out of my face,” the Link answered, swatting his fat hand at the microphones. “We’re not in the pornography business. We never have been. This is all trumped up by our enemies. Tell ’em, Thorne.”

“Well, Frank . . . You see it’s all . . .”

My momentary hesitation and the look on my face told the Link everything he had to know.

“Thorne! You’re FIRED! Do you HEAR me? FIRED!!!”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Annette. I walked off the stage dejectedly and, after declining further comment to a pack of agitated reporters, fought through the dispersing mob to my car. The game I’d been playing was a losing one. I had known from the beginning that I was going to get caught. It was only a question of when. Now I had the answer—three weeks before qualifying for my Tailburger pension. I’d blown it. By embarrassing the Link on the biggest day of his life, I would receive no clemency from him. He might even take deranged pleasure in denying me what I’d earned over a lifetime. It was over.

26

Reeling

According to her ex-roommate Natalie, Sophia was at an AA meeting with Tweeter when I called to break the bad news. Even if I received a severance package, which was unlikely given the circumstances, tuition for her next semester at Cornell was going to be a challenge. And she could forget about the collagen injections. Her lips would have to remain thin and birdlike for the near future.

I now dared to utter the three words every college student fears the most: part-time job. Tweeter’s van, my daughter’s adopted home, didn’t have a telephone, so I asked Natalie to have Sophia call me the next time she rolled into Ithaca. I rarely burdened my children with personal problems, but my new financial condition compelled me to warn them of the impending need for their gainful employment. Ethan wasn’t home, but his message, recorded with the poetic assistance of Skull, encouraged me to “grab life by the
cojones
,” all in all good advice when you’ve just been downsized. I told my son to call me when he got in.

King came home and found me in my funk.

“Do you want to meditate?”

“No. I
don’t
want to meditate.”

“It’ll make you feel better.”

“King, I just lost my job, my pension, my reputation and, in all likelihood, my girlfriend.”

“At least you’ve got your chi reservoir.”

“My chee reservoir is all tapped out. Do you understand?”

“You can’t meditate when you’re angry. That’s one of the twenty-four rules.”

“I don’t care about the twenty-four fucking rules! I told you. I don’t want to meditate! Will you just leave me alone?”

“If you think I don’t understand, you’re wrong. I’ve been right where you are.”

“When have you
ever
been right where I am? You don’t even know what the work world is like.”

“That’s not true. When I walked away from Norwegian Cruise Lines, I left with nothing but a sunburn and a bad case of genital herpes. You don’t think that was painful? I’ve been there.”

“King, I appreciate your empathy. I really do. But right now, I’d just like to be left alone.”

“Okay, okay. But I won’t let your evil chi consume you. Tomorrow we meditate.”

A few dirty martinis. A few Commodores. A pair of comfortable pajamas. The remote control. Soon I didn’t feel so bad about this firing stuff. Truth be told, it was liberating. I couldn’t decide whether or not to quit my crap-ass job. Now the decision had been made for me. The pension problem was a bit of a bitch, but maybe I could finagle something. Or I could sue. How would my story play to a jury? Pretty damn well. Three weeks short of my retirement and the cold corporate hand cuts me off. I might get even more money this way. Being fired was a blessing. I was convinced. And drunk.

Local news did a job on me, the Link and Tailburger. When you’re described as the linchpin between the church and a porn ring aimed at crippled minors, it’s hard to call it a good day politically. Katie Chang Gomez, exercising her usual editorial restraint, called it the most galactically disturbing story she’d ever covered. Latest reports had the Fanoflincoln Pavilion being burned down to remove the impurity of the event from convent grounds. Suddenly my jury case wasn’t looking as good.

My thoughts turned to Cal’s son Kyle and the other kids in the hospital as a result of our undercooked meat. When the doorbell rang, I feared I’d find Cal standing on my front stoop, a loyal friend looking for comfort over the tragic news of a child’s death. But it wasn’t Cal. It was Annette, still dressed in the suit she wore to the dedication. I opened the door, dreading what she might have to say.

“Annette. What are you doing here?”

“I’m not welcome?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“Fanoflincoln is in the hospital.”

“He is? What happened?”

“Stroke. Right after you left the convent, he keeled over on the bishop. It took three or four Shriner kids to get him off.”

“My God. That’s terrible.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

I walked Annette to the kitchen and offered her a seat.

“I can’t believe the Link had a stroke. Everybody’s gonna say it was my fault for shocking him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Annette said skeptically. “I think the extra four hundred pounds he carries around is a suspect as well.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Sure.”

I brought a bottle of wine and two glasses to the table.

“I’m sorry about your job.”

“You heard?”

“Everybody at the ceremony heard.”

“There’s a reasonable explanation for all of this, I swear. I had to get our market share up or lose my job. You were at the board meetings. You know how the Link pushed people. He just pushed me and pushed me.”

“Sky, I won’t lie to you. I’m angry as hell that you weren’t up-front with me and that you didn’t tell me what you were involved in.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. At least then you could have distanced yourself from me and prevented any political damage.”

“Sky, I’m not just talking about things from a political standpoint. I’m talking from a personal one. I trusted you. This is about honesty.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You let me down. And it hurts.”

I hung my head in boyish shame, prepared to receive the punishment I so richly deserved: losing Annette.

“Look. (Pause) I know what kind of pressure you were under. Fanoflincoln is a jerk. I just want you to know that I’m resigning from the board.”

“What?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought. He just bullies everyone. It’s not worth it to me anymore.”

“Annette, you don’t have to do that for me.”

“I know that. I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me.”

“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

“I have. I’ve also made up my mind about something else.”

“Here it comes,” I thought. “El dumperoo.”

“I want us to be together.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right.

“You do?”

“Yes. But, Sky, I have to know if there’s anything else you haven’t told me. I do have an election coming up, and I won’t be able to withstand a second bombshell. People will be associating me with you from here on out. So I’ve got to know. Is there anything else out there? Anything sordid or embarrassing?”

“No. Of course not. I mean, what else could there be?”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Annette walked over to me and wrapped her arms around my back.

“I missed you.”

“Me too.”

I kissed Annette softly on the lips.

“Stay over?”

“No. I’ve got to go. I have a meeting in the morning, and I’m exhausted. I just came by to make sure you were all right.”

“You’re incredible, Annette.”

Annette and I embraced at the door and said good-bye. Ethan reached me an hour later, just as I was falling asleep.

“Dad, what’s wrong? Your voice sounded funny on your message.”

“Ethan, listen. I lost my job.”

“Noooo. That is
brutal,
Dad. What happened?”

“Well, that’s the other part of the news. See, you may hear some things in the press about Tailburger and an Internet contest we were running.”

“You mean the Nail Some Tail Sweepstakes?”

“Yes. You knew about that?”

“Of course. When are they announcing the winner? I’m hoping to score that Lust Ranch trip.”

“Look, I don’t want you to score anything. That contest was a bad idea.”

“Let me guess. You were the guy behind it?”

“I’m ashamed to say it, but yes.”

“Awwwriiight, Pop! That’s all-time. I can’t believe you were the guy behind that gig. I can’t wait to tell my buds.”

“
Don’t
tell your buds! Don’t tell anyone!”

“Why not?”

“Let’s just say it’s not something I’m proud of.”

“So why’d you get in trouble for it?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say some people weren’t happy about it.”

“I’ll tell you, Dad, they did you a favor by ankling your ass.”

Time for some of my son’s legendary career counseling.

“Why do you say that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re in the death zone.”

“What do you mean, the death zone?”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re over forty-five years old, which means you could drop any day. The studies show it. Very few men die before fortyfive, but after that life turns into a crapshoot. You could bite it today.”

“I’m not going to bite it today, all right?”

“No need to go postal. I’m just saying. I thought you knew.”

Maybe my son was on to something. Why not listen to him? I sure hadn’t found many answers to life’s questions on my own.

“So this death zone I’m in, how does it relate to my firing?”

“Dad, I’ve learned a few things out here. One is that everybody retires by forty-five. Nobody wants to be hanging around the office sitting on the cube farm, hunched over all day, just watching their body and brain deteriorate. You make your money and you get out while you still have time to enjoy it. It’s all about being young. Doing the things you want to do in life. Use work. Don’t let it use you. Travel. Paint. Collect wine.”

“Collect wine? What the hell do you know about collecting wine?”

“Nothing yet, but I’m not retired.”

“Ethan, it’s not as simple as you make it sound.”

“All I’m saying is, what’s the use of piling up all this dough just to die? Hell, if you’re still working at the age of fifty in Silicon Valley, people feel sorry for you. It’s like, ‘What happened, dude?’ We’re all just company cattle. When you try to invest yourself in a corporation, you waste your time. You won’t be there long enough for it to pay off. And there’s no loyalty anymore, Dad. Companies don’t care about their people. It’s all about the Benjamins. The dead presidents.”

“The Benjamins?”

“The money. Hundred-dollar bills. Ben Franklins.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you see? You put your
fuck you
money together and then you bolt.”

How had the world changed so much on my watch? When I left school, work was a noble pursuit. A lifetime spent behind a desk was the price you paid for a better life for your wife and your children. Sure, it sucked, but you put in the time and at the end of the road you reaped the reward: a pension and some security, perhaps a place in Florida. What you did was who you were and your source of respect. Being a certain age mattered. Gray hair was equated with wisdom, not doddering incompetency. And if you were bold enough to be an entrepreneur, you never imagined a company could be built and sold in six months. It took years, and then, if you were lucky, you might be able to cash out a bit early.

Now nobody cared. Working any longer than you absolutely had to was for suckers. And the age by which you had to get out was getting younger. Pretty soon it would be, “Poor bastard, thirty years old and still grinding it out for the man.” Wearing a suit? That was the sure sign that you were a capitalist tool or, worse, irrelevant in the new economy. The mercantile ethic said to make your pile and get out. But what if you didn’t have a pile? Get out anyway and take your chances? That might have meant something to a twenty-two-year-old like Ethan, but to me, it didn’t mean anything. The shift in the paradigm had been too radical and too swift for me. With my current car’s alignment, I wouldn’t be able to make the turn at the corner.

“Dad, trust me. You’re lucky they fired you. You just don’t see it yet.”

“I can’t send you any more money, Ethan.”

I thought that the stark reality of being cut off would cause Ethan to bolt up in his seat and reconsider his newly found philosophies. I was dead wrong.

“That’s okay. We’re going public. The IPO is next week.”

“It is?”

“Yes. This is it. Strap in and get ready for the ride. Six months from now, if all goes well, we’ll be sipping piña coladas and getting rolfed on a daily basis. Macrocock rules!”

“Ethan, that’s great!”

“We’ll see what happens, but it looks pretty good.”

“What will you do for money until the lockup period is over?”

“I’ll deal, Dad. Don’t worry.”

The way Ethan took my news gave me reason for pause. All this time, I thought I’d be letting him down if I didn’t support him financially. Turns out, I had it backward.

“Listen, don’t tell your sister anything until I speak with her, okay?”

“Sure, Dad. Whatever you want.”

Remarkably, my kids were growing more agreeable as they got older; a very pleasant compensation of age. I said good night to Ethan and shut off the light on my nightstand. A new day would be dawning tomorrow, and with it would arrive my last chance to make amends for the things I’d done and to turn my boat toward insular Tahiti. I climbed out of bed and dropped to my knees. Prayer and patriotism are the last two refuges of a scoundrel, but I needed shelter and I didn’t own a flag.