Chapter Four. As though being corralled by the attorney wasn't bad enough, a whole cadre of street-teamers suddenly walked into the place wearing Sean Rogen's Superjew tee.
"Look, I've got to go, Josh," Adam said.
Freddie heard the low rumble get louder.
"Just let me know later. I owe all of those guys a favor. Yes, one apiece. Goodbye."
Adam rose from his bench.
"What are you doing?" he asked the group of street-teamers.
A street-teamer with a nametag that read, "Anna Rawson," blinked at Adam. "We're just getting a coke?"
"Why are you wearing that? Isn't that in bad taste?"
"Well no," said Anna. "It isn't. I think the designer is actually J--"
"Hey Adam?" said Freddie.
"Huh."
"Look, I'm bored. I'll be outside."
"Oh, okay."
Freddie was having a hard time concentrating on party schools, street teamers in Jewish paraphernalia, and the last names of movie characters. The Four Arms always seemed to be this way - you could never concentrate on your own thing, because there always seemed to be wave upon wave of little vignette-like happenings.
It was kind of nice, in a way. At least it was encapsulated, as though in a little box. Freddie enjoyed the fact that you could step in, and face the barrage of 2009, or step back out and sort of consider and process what you had seen.
His mind was still on Bunning.
Why was Bunning signing autographs at a cash for clunkers program?
It was like there were too many of these little vignette-like concerns, piled way upon way.
He sat down under a tree with a fancy phone. But the fancy phone wasn't going to do him any good because the batteries were dead.
Two silhouettes approached from the distance. Freddie blinked. Would no one leave him alone from all of these clusters of time and place to consider? As they got closer, Freddie realized that it was two associates of that stupid lawyer. It was Jillian Harris and Ed Swiderski. Jillian was an attorney.
"Oh. Hi guys."
"Hey Fred. What's going on?" said Ed.
"Aw, I don't know," Fred said. "There were about five things happening at once and I sort of needed to get some air. I like the Four Arms but it can be a little much sometimes."
"I know what you mean," said Jillian. She was way less smarmy than Josh. She grinned big and her jaw showed. A bit self-important, perhaps.
She took on the accoutrements of exaggerated therapeutic concern. "Do you wanna talk about it Freddie?"
Freddie took a deep breath. "Well, I went down to the cash for clunkers program, because I wanted to get Bunning's autograph. But then Adam was pointing out to me how weird it is for that guy to be making appearances at this like, liberal bastion. So there's that. I feel like there's something wrong with this picture and it's like a thread on a shirt. You know what I mean? It's like if you walk past a mirror and see someone ELSE'S reflection, but it's just that one little problem encapsulated, otherwise you can go back to your job or school or whatever, get some pizza and go about whatever you were going to do anyway, but any time you walk in front of a mirror, it's someone else."
Jillian and Ed turned to each other and Freddie had the disconcerting sensation that they were appraising something about him that they weren't saying out loud.
"But that's not all. I already had that bee in my bonnet, then we came to the Four Arms to see Karen, who has a job now where she takes kids, I am assuming pretty well off like, junior year of high school, they got a car from the clunkers thing and they're going around the country."
"Yeah?" said Jillian. "So?"
Freddie paused. "I'm not sure. I don't know."
"What about it?"
"Something just seems ... off. She was telling us how the top party schools in the new Princeton Review book all correlate with having really good Chem departments. Adam brought it up, and I couldn't believe I never thought of it before. It's kind of terrible."
"I never thought of it before either," said Jillian.
"You know something," Ed said. "I never thought of it before either. So wait, are you suggesting that there are like, illicit chemists who use the school's facilities to make drugs, and the fact that it has such a reputation means that there is a readymade market for the drugs?"
"Well," Freddie said. "I don't know. That would be the thing, yes. But it could easily be an apocryphal story. I have no idea."
"So that doesn't seem like anything to worry about though," Jillian said.
"There's just so much to think about," Freddie said. "I was sitting there while Adam was on the phone with Josh-"
"Huh," Jillian said. "Josh Willingham?"
"Yeah," Freddie said.
"Bastard," Jillian said.
Freddie nodded. "So I'm waiting patiently and I look up at this monitor and there's Sarah Palin doing her farewell speech, but it seemed to be taking way longer than it should, and I couldn't tell if it was me, if they were just like, running the whole thing in its entirety, or if it was the Four Arms having a VJ kind of thing, getting arty."
"Hmm..." Ed said. "Maybe you need to get hammered."
Freddie looked aghast. "I don't think you're supposed to say that within fifty yards of the Arms."
"It's okay, Freddie," Jillian said. "Really, it's okay."
"Maybe you've been working too hard," Ed said.
Freddie just sighed. He looked really uneasy.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
3. In which Adam Rubin gets corralled by a talkative Josh Willingham and Freddie waits
The students went outside for a minute with their chaperone and Adam and Freddie blinked. Shaun was washing some tables, typical unflappable barkeep.
"I was wondering," Freddie said.
"Yes?" Adam said.
"Why is it that no one can remember Thelma and Louise's last names, you know, from the movie?"
Adam scowled. It was just like Freddie to bring up that kind of nonsense.
"I don't know," Adam said. "But I have a friend who is attorney to the housekeeper of the attorney of the housekeeper of Davis and Sarandon. You could ask him."
"Huh? Really?" Freddie seemed surprised.
"Yes. Let's call him on his cel right now." Adam dialed the number.
"Josh Willingham and Associates," said a voice.
"Hello, Josh?" said Adam.
"That's right," said a weird husky whine.
"Josh, it's Adam Rubin."
"Adaaaaaam!"
Willingham was sort of a smarm.
Adam held the phone away from his ear.
"Look, never mind all that," Adam said into the phone. "What were Thelma and Louise's last names. Can you ask Jillian to ask Ed to ask Shana to ask Geena and Susan..."
There was a low rumble. Freddie thought for a moment that it was coming from a nearby manhole cover (outdoors) and a series of ducts.
But it wasn't.
It was coming from Adam's friend.
"Well, my friend, it's not so simple," said Willingham. He spoke in a really odd register. As a child, Freddie had once wondered whether an entire classroom of children, with immense practice, would have been able to simulate the scratches and clipping inherent in a typical suburban school's public address system coming over a tinny loudspeaker, so as to be able to all work together and pipe the sounds, "Ms. Harrison, please come to the office. Ms. Harrison to the office please," so that the teacher would leave the room and the kids could raise a ruckus. The answer had usually been no, but this was the sensation brought about by listening to Josh Willingham talk.
Adam was looking weary. He sipped on a 7-up.
"No," Adam said. "Yes. No, look, I'm not going to go down to that Cash for Clunkers program with you because I don't have a car to trade in. Yes, no."
All Freddie could do was wait. He looked up at a silent monitor overlooking the phony tavern. It was replaying a tape loop of Sarah Palin's farewell speech. Once again, it was difficult to parse out the discrete combination of ingenuous and disingenuous in the Four Arms, in not being able to tell whether their point of origin was more pragmatic, plodding and personable, in which case they would probably be showing the Palin speech because the evening news had been on. or whether their point of origin was purposely pretty postmodern, in which case it was an art thing, similar to the intriguing new artform of live video editing at dance clubs, in which a moment, such as Lee Marvin kicking someone's ass, could be stretched out to a half an hour, or made to repeat in jittery fashion, rewinding by three moments, going ahead by four.
Adam put his head on the rutted wooden table.
Karen came back in with Kirstie and Otty. "We found a squirrel!" she said.
"I was wondering," Freddie said.
"Yes?" Adam said.
"Why is it that no one can remember Thelma and Louise's last names, you know, from the movie?"
Adam scowled. It was just like Freddie to bring up that kind of nonsense.
"I don't know," Adam said. "But I have a friend who is attorney to the housekeeper of the attorney of the housekeeper of Davis and Sarandon. You could ask him."
"Huh? Really?" Freddie seemed surprised.
"Yes. Let's call him on his cel right now." Adam dialed the number.
"Josh Willingham and Associates," said a voice.
"Hello, Josh?" said Adam.
"That's right," said a weird husky whine.
"Josh, it's Adam Rubin."
"Adaaaaaam!"
Willingham was sort of a smarm.
Adam held the phone away from his ear.
"Look, never mind all that," Adam said into the phone. "What were Thelma and Louise's last names. Can you ask Jillian to ask Ed to ask Shana to ask Geena and Susan..."
There was a low rumble. Freddie thought for a moment that it was coming from a nearby manhole cover (outdoors) and a series of ducts.
But it wasn't.
It was coming from Adam's friend.
"Well, my friend, it's not so simple," said Willingham. He spoke in a really odd register. As a child, Freddie had once wondered whether an entire classroom of children, with immense practice, would have been able to simulate the scratches and clipping inherent in a typical suburban school's public address system coming over a tinny loudspeaker, so as to be able to all work together and pipe the sounds, "Ms. Harrison, please come to the office. Ms. Harrison to the office please," so that the teacher would leave the room and the kids could raise a ruckus. The answer had usually been no, but this was the sensation brought about by listening to Josh Willingham talk.
Adam was looking weary. He sipped on a 7-up.
"No," Adam said. "Yes. No, look, I'm not going to go down to that Cash for Clunkers program with you because I don't have a car to trade in. Yes, no."
All Freddie could do was wait. He looked up at a silent monitor overlooking the phony tavern. It was replaying a tape loop of Sarah Palin's farewell speech. Once again, it was difficult to parse out the discrete combination of ingenuous and disingenuous in the Four Arms, in not being able to tell whether their point of origin was more pragmatic, plodding and personable, in which case they would probably be showing the Palin speech because the evening news had been on. or whether their point of origin was purposely pretty postmodern, in which case it was an art thing, similar to the intriguing new artform of live video editing at dance clubs, in which a moment, such as Lee Marvin kicking someone's ass, could be stretched out to a half an hour, or made to repeat in jittery fashion, rewinding by three moments, going ahead by four.
Adam put his head on the rutted wooden table.
Karen came back in with Kirstie and Otty. "We found a squirrel!" she said.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Chapter Two. They talk about Bunning and go meet Karen at the Four Arms
"So, I mean, what did you do, did you get a car? Do you even have a car?"
"No," said Freddie. "I don't have a car."
"So what were you doing there?"
"I went to see Jim Bunning."
"Who is that?"
"He's a senator, like for Kentucky. He is a creep. He made some crack about Ruth Bader Ginsburg dying of cancer."
"Oh, I remember that guy. When was that, like last year?"
"I think it was a few months ago."
"So why did you want to go see him?"
"I wanted his autograph. He used to be a baseball player."
Adam scratched again at the spackle. He looked at his hand - some spackle had come dislodged from the apartment wall - frowned, furrowed his brow. "So wait, you don't like the guy but-"
Freddie put his hands in the air and waved them around as though he just didn't care. "I know, I know. It's a guilty pleasure. I can't pass up a chance to meet the guy. He threw a 1976!"
Adam blinked. "Wait. What?"
"He threw a 1976, in 1976," Freddie said.
"Umm," Adam said. "Look, Freddie, I don't know that much about baseball, but that sounds wrong to me."
"No, it's true," Freddie said. "He was the relief pitcher for the Mariners."
"What the hell - the Mariners are not even a damn baseball team," Adam said.
They were both silent for a minute.
"Well anyway," Freddie said. "Look, I don't want to get into an argument. This is what they make like, baseball almanacs for. We could look it up on google or something."
"No, never mind," Adam said. "So Bunning was a speaker at this new stimulus thing. Wait a minute. Bunning is a big conservative. I am really confused. I would expect he would be making sour grapes about Obama's stuff, not going down to be a special guest. And what is he doing in California anyhow?"
"I know," Freddie said. "I don't understand it any better than you do. Maybe he was bribed. Maybe his constituency has some weird little eddy of latte liberals. It doesn't seem that way though, does it."
"Yeah, I don't know," Adam said. "So did you get his autograph."
"No," Freddie said. "The line was too long."
"I'm kind of surprised that some random pitcher was that popular."
"Yeah. I don't know why. Maybe the event just like.."
Freddie paused.
"Wait a minute, it's probably because the audiences were mutually exclusive. They picked Bunning specifically because he would draw in people who WEREN'T already coming to the Cash for Clunkers thing."
"I guess that's possible," Adam said.
"Yeah," Freddie said. He took another glug.
"Something about it bothers me though."
"I mean, do you think there was foul play?"
"Well look at these other guys. Rick Perry from Texas started making rhetoric about secession. Jindal and Sanford."
Freddie got a big grin on his face.
"Huh." said Adam questioningly.
"They are in deep, deep shit. I just have to get a little happy how bad off they are all doing these days. I mean, Michael Steele!"
Adam didn't smile. "I don't know. I know what you mean, but I feel like you have to take one extra step out in time. Things change a lot faster than you think they are going to. You know, enjoy it now. I would be surprised if we go progressive for twelve months."
"That's possible," Freddie said. "But I have to enjoy it."
"I just worry that it's a little like 'those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.' It's a conceit. We think the whole concept of cycles has ended just in our lifetimes. It's like aging research. I catch myself on this one. It would be cool if our generation got to live forever or something. But it's a way of blessing your time, more than all the other times, this is like the *real* special age."
"Hmm," Freddie said. "I see where you're coming from. But the axes of how the times are judged ... also changes. So isn't it possible that every age actually does get its corroborating events that says, you were the ones, I mean, just relative to what they had known about previously?"
Adam blinked. "Umm... would you mind elaborating a little? Or actually, alternately we could quit talking and go out ... I was supposed to meet Karen later."
"Well, that's fine," Freddie said. "We could -" he swished his beer bottle. "I'm halfway done with this - we can talk for another fifteen minutes and then go."
"Okay," said Adam.
"So yeah," Freddie said. "Let's say you're in the year 1900, and there's someone you think is a crank, talking about human flight, like the Wright Brothers. You think they're a crank because it makes it sound too much like the people living today are somehow anointed by god, because the vision that the person is describing ... ummm... there are certain boosters or multipliers in the way he's talking, that make the language sparkly, when actually, there is also a prosaic or a mundane way of portraying that human invention of the airplane. It always just reveals the next bottleneck and problem."
"Interesting, "Adam said. "Look, do you want to keep this going while we walk over?"
"Yeah," Freddie said. He grabbed his green windbreaker. Adam locked the door and they were off. "It's no wonder I didn't get a car in that program," Freddie said. "I barely leave my neighborhood. I never go anywhere besides The Four Arms."
"I never go anywhere besides The Four Arms either," Adam said.
The Four Arms was a dry, all-ages tavern which was an unsettling mixture of historical signfication with jokey. "Is it a crest or isn't it?" Karen Grammer was asking the bartender for the benefit of her tourist friends.
Shaun the bartender rolled his eyes. You could tell when there were unfamiliar or new people in the scene, because there was a layer of common jokes that the insiders would always already know. Like stupid puns. They were funny for about a day, and then they became part of the furniture. Like people looking at "Mind the Gap" or "Men at Work." Really dumb, low humor. But he wasn't going to snarl at visitors.
"I have to say," Shaun said. "No one's asked me about that for a while." He pointed up at a yellowed, typewriter-written legend, encased in glass. "You can read about it up there." It was next to a typical whimsical wall sign that read, "DO NOT CALL IT A BAR OR YOU MAY BE EJECTED."
Karen grinned at her brood. They were a boy and a girl who looked to be roughly in their junior year of high school.
"So yeah, " Shaun said. "We were founded by the prohibitionists. They wanted to fight fire with fire by starting up their own little public house, which wouldn't serve any alcohol. That's how come you kids are allowed in here."
"Oh," said Kirstie with a shy air. Her eyes were just over the wooden platform behind which Shaun worked.
"Hmm," Shaun said. "You're looking a little low."
"I feel a little low," Kirstie said.
"Would you like a phone book?" Shaun scanned the place. "Uh.. we don't have any phone books because we don't have any phones anymore."
Karen reached into her messenger bag. "Wait a second," she said. She pulled out a copy of the Princeton Review's Guide to The Best Party Schools, 2010 edition.
"Here, Kirstie," she said. "Why don't you sit on this." It was the size of a phonebook, a typical guide to colleges.
"So wait," Shaun said. "Is that any relation to why you guys are here in Gadsden in the first place?"
"Yes," Karen said. "It's a college program. We tour the country looking at schools."
"Oh," Shaun said. "Are these your children?"
Karen gave Shaun an odd look. "No, I work for the Princeton Review, and I'm going around with Kirstie and Otty. We just got our new car today!"
"Oh," Shaun nodded. "From the clunkers thing."
"Yeah!" Karen said excitedly. "Princeton Review was.. uh, let's just say there was some fiat happening in our decisionmaking for about the last decade. So we finally booted a few people who shall remain nameless, and the doors are wide open to finally upgrade our fleet."
"Hmm," Shaun said. "It seems like a funny time to be doing that, with the bad economy and all."
"I know," Karen nodded. "I know, I know. It's not my decision .. it's the powers-that-be."
The saloon-style swinging wooden doors made a creak. It was Adam and Freddie.
"Woo hoo!' said Freddie. "Karen Grammer!"
The three of them had a succession of big hugs. Karen introduced them to the kids. "Adam, Freddie, these are the kids on my college tour, this is Kirstie and this is Otty."
Otty waved- he had said even less than Kirstie had.
"They seem like good kids," Freddie said.
"We are having a blast," Karen said.
"It kinda sounds like the life of Riley," Adam said. "You get paid, you travel around.."
"Yeah," Karen said. "Well it depends on the kids. It's not all that awesome if you're stuck in a car or a bus with a bunch of brats. Not like these two!" She threw her arms around Kirstie and Otty who grinned. It did actually seem to Freddie that he had a stereotyped idea of teen behavior, but these guys were really quiet and well-behaved.
"But wait a minute," Shaun said. "What's up with the Party School directory?"
"Well," Kirstie said. "They have really good Chem programs."
"What, all of them?"
"It's a strange little correlation," Karen said. "The top ten in the party school book and the top ten rated Chem departments happen to be the same schools."
"I don't like the sound of that," Shaun said. He was extra sensitized to underage drinking, because he had worked at the Four Arms for four years and the boss hammered it into everyone on a daily basis to follow the rules or else.
"How come?" Karen said uneasily.
Shaun blinked. "It makes you think that .. .you know. There is some illicit stuff being made in the labs, like if they have the facilities."
Karen's rate of blinking decreased. It looked as though she was angry with only very subtle changes. "Yes," she said. "But my kids are good kids. They're science majors."
There was silence.
"Otty has a 4.0," she added.
Shaun nodded. "I'm really sorry, Karen. I know they are good kids. Let's all have a 7-Up on the house!"
"No," said Freddie. "I don't have a car."
"So what were you doing there?"
"I went to see Jim Bunning."
"Who is that?"
"He's a senator, like for Kentucky. He is a creep. He made some crack about Ruth Bader Ginsburg dying of cancer."
"Oh, I remember that guy. When was that, like last year?"
"I think it was a few months ago."
"So why did you want to go see him?"
"I wanted his autograph. He used to be a baseball player."
Adam scratched again at the spackle. He looked at his hand - some spackle had come dislodged from the apartment wall - frowned, furrowed his brow. "So wait, you don't like the guy but-"
Freddie put his hands in the air and waved them around as though he just didn't care. "I know, I know. It's a guilty pleasure. I can't pass up a chance to meet the guy. He threw a 1976!"
Adam blinked. "Wait. What?"
"He threw a 1976, in 1976," Freddie said.
"Umm," Adam said. "Look, Freddie, I don't know that much about baseball, but that sounds wrong to me."
"No, it's true," Freddie said. "He was the relief pitcher for the Mariners."
"What the hell - the Mariners are not even a damn baseball team," Adam said.
They were both silent for a minute.
"Well anyway," Freddie said. "Look, I don't want to get into an argument. This is what they make like, baseball almanacs for. We could look it up on google or something."
"No, never mind," Adam said. "So Bunning was a speaker at this new stimulus thing. Wait a minute. Bunning is a big conservative. I am really confused. I would expect he would be making sour grapes about Obama's stuff, not going down to be a special guest. And what is he doing in California anyhow?"
"I know," Freddie said. "I don't understand it any better than you do. Maybe he was bribed. Maybe his constituency has some weird little eddy of latte liberals. It doesn't seem that way though, does it."
"Yeah, I don't know," Adam said. "So did you get his autograph."
"No," Freddie said. "The line was too long."
"I'm kind of surprised that some random pitcher was that popular."
"Yeah. I don't know why. Maybe the event just like.."
Freddie paused.
"Wait a minute, it's probably because the audiences were mutually exclusive. They picked Bunning specifically because he would draw in people who WEREN'T already coming to the Cash for Clunkers thing."
"I guess that's possible," Adam said.
"Yeah," Freddie said. He took another glug.
"Something about it bothers me though."
"I mean, do you think there was foul play?"
"Well look at these other guys. Rick Perry from Texas started making rhetoric about secession. Jindal and Sanford."
Freddie got a big grin on his face.
"Huh." said Adam questioningly.
"They are in deep, deep shit. I just have to get a little happy how bad off they are all doing these days. I mean, Michael Steele!"
Adam didn't smile. "I don't know. I know what you mean, but I feel like you have to take one extra step out in time. Things change a lot faster than you think they are going to. You know, enjoy it now. I would be surprised if we go progressive for twelve months."
"That's possible," Freddie said. "But I have to enjoy it."
"I just worry that it's a little like 'those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.' It's a conceit. We think the whole concept of cycles has ended just in our lifetimes. It's like aging research. I catch myself on this one. It would be cool if our generation got to live forever or something. But it's a way of blessing your time, more than all the other times, this is like the *real* special age."
"Hmm," Freddie said. "I see where you're coming from. But the axes of how the times are judged ... also changes. So isn't it possible that every age actually does get its corroborating events that says, you were the ones, I mean, just relative to what they had known about previously?"
Adam blinked. "Umm... would you mind elaborating a little? Or actually, alternately we could quit talking and go out ... I was supposed to meet Karen later."
"Well, that's fine," Freddie said. "We could -" he swished his beer bottle. "I'm halfway done with this - we can talk for another fifteen minutes and then go."
"Okay," said Adam.
"So yeah," Freddie said. "Let's say you're in the year 1900, and there's someone you think is a crank, talking about human flight, like the Wright Brothers. You think they're a crank because it makes it sound too much like the people living today are somehow anointed by god, because the vision that the person is describing ... ummm... there are certain boosters or multipliers in the way he's talking, that make the language sparkly, when actually, there is also a prosaic or a mundane way of portraying that human invention of the airplane. It always just reveals the next bottleneck and problem."
"Interesting, "Adam said. "Look, do you want to keep this going while we walk over?"
"Yeah," Freddie said. He grabbed his green windbreaker. Adam locked the door and they were off. "It's no wonder I didn't get a car in that program," Freddie said. "I barely leave my neighborhood. I never go anywhere besides The Four Arms."
"I never go anywhere besides The Four Arms either," Adam said.
The Four Arms was a dry, all-ages tavern which was an unsettling mixture of historical signfication with jokey. "Is it a crest or isn't it?" Karen Grammer was asking the bartender for the benefit of her tourist friends.
Shaun the bartender rolled his eyes. You could tell when there were unfamiliar or new people in the scene, because there was a layer of common jokes that the insiders would always already know. Like stupid puns. They were funny for about a day, and then they became part of the furniture. Like people looking at "Mind the Gap" or "Men at Work." Really dumb, low humor. But he wasn't going to snarl at visitors.
"I have to say," Shaun said. "No one's asked me about that for a while." He pointed up at a yellowed, typewriter-written legend, encased in glass. "You can read about it up there." It was next to a typical whimsical wall sign that read, "DO NOT CALL IT A BAR OR YOU MAY BE EJECTED."
Karen grinned at her brood. They were a boy and a girl who looked to be roughly in their junior year of high school.
"So yeah, " Shaun said. "We were founded by the prohibitionists. They wanted to fight fire with fire by starting up their own little public house, which wouldn't serve any alcohol. That's how come you kids are allowed in here."
"Oh," said Kirstie with a shy air. Her eyes were just over the wooden platform behind which Shaun worked.
"Hmm," Shaun said. "You're looking a little low."
"I feel a little low," Kirstie said.
"Would you like a phone book?" Shaun scanned the place. "Uh.. we don't have any phone books because we don't have any phones anymore."
Karen reached into her messenger bag. "Wait a second," she said. She pulled out a copy of the Princeton Review's Guide to The Best Party Schools, 2010 edition.
"Here, Kirstie," she said. "Why don't you sit on this." It was the size of a phonebook, a typical guide to colleges.
"So wait," Shaun said. "Is that any relation to why you guys are here in Gadsden in the first place?"
"Yes," Karen said. "It's a college program. We tour the country looking at schools."
"Oh," Shaun said. "Are these your children?"
Karen gave Shaun an odd look. "No, I work for the Princeton Review, and I'm going around with Kirstie and Otty. We just got our new car today!"
"Oh," Shaun nodded. "From the clunkers thing."
"Yeah!" Karen said excitedly. "Princeton Review was.. uh, let's just say there was some fiat happening in our decisionmaking for about the last decade. So we finally booted a few people who shall remain nameless, and the doors are wide open to finally upgrade our fleet."
"Hmm," Shaun said. "It seems like a funny time to be doing that, with the bad economy and all."
"I know," Karen nodded. "I know, I know. It's not my decision .. it's the powers-that-be."
The saloon-style swinging wooden doors made a creak. It was Adam and Freddie.
"Woo hoo!' said Freddie. "Karen Grammer!"
The three of them had a succession of big hugs. Karen introduced them to the kids. "Adam, Freddie, these are the kids on my college tour, this is Kirstie and this is Otty."
Otty waved- he had said even less than Kirstie had.
"They seem like good kids," Freddie said.
"We are having a blast," Karen said.
"It kinda sounds like the life of Riley," Adam said. "You get paid, you travel around.."
"Yeah," Karen said. "Well it depends on the kids. It's not all that awesome if you're stuck in a car or a bus with a bunch of brats. Not like these two!" She threw her arms around Kirstie and Otty who grinned. It did actually seem to Freddie that he had a stereotyped idea of teen behavior, but these guys were really quiet and well-behaved.
"But wait a minute," Shaun said. "What's up with the Party School directory?"
"Well," Kirstie said. "They have really good Chem programs."
"What, all of them?"
"It's a strange little correlation," Karen said. "The top ten in the party school book and the top ten rated Chem departments happen to be the same schools."
"I don't like the sound of that," Shaun said. He was extra sensitized to underage drinking, because he had worked at the Four Arms for four years and the boss hammered it into everyone on a daily basis to follow the rules or else.
"How come?" Karen said uneasily.
Shaun blinked. "It makes you think that .. .you know. There is some illicit stuff being made in the labs, like if they have the facilities."
Karen's rate of blinking decreased. It looked as though she was angry with only very subtle changes. "Yes," she said. "But my kids are good kids. They're science majors."
There was silence.
"Otty has a 4.0," she added.
Shaun nodded. "I'm really sorry, Karen. I know they are good kids. Let's all have a 7-Up on the house!"
Chapter One. In which Freddie Glenn comes over to Adam Rubin's apartment after visiting the Cash for Clunkers program.
Chapter One.
Adam was sitting on his couch. He was looking at the shadows of the birds, as they cast through his window and on to the wall. He whistled a tune and got up to throw on a CD of "Besides All That" by Steven Brown.
The doorbell rang. Then the person got cavalier and just threw the door open.
It was Freddie.
"Freddie Glenn! What's up!" Adam said enthusiastically.
"Hey Adam," Freddie said.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Freddie said. "I just got back from the Cash for Clunkers program."
"What's that?"
"It's some U.S. government thing they just started. It's weird. It has to do with like, trade in your old car and get a new car, and if the new car is like, a hybrid, or uses less gas, you can get some kind of rebate or something."
"Oh," Adam said.
"But I don't know," Freddie said, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with a beer. "I could be misunderstanding the whole thing. That's just what I picked up from reading the papers."
"Pfft," Adam said. "There's a lot of that going around."
Freddie gave him a blank look. "What do you mean?"
"There's some shit happening with an Adam Rubin. It's getting on my nerves. The phone has been ringing day and night. I don't even know who that is."
"Adam Rubin," Freddie considered.
"Yeah. I don't know. Some kind of NBA star or something. Maybe I'm getting old."
"I don't think you're that old," Freddie said. "Maybe it's just ... there are always new people in bad culture. Maybe you're not so bad off if you just ignore the bad culture altogether."
Adam scratched the variegated white spackle over his head. "I'm not so sure," he said. "I know what you're saying, but I could see the argument for both. It's also good to engage with the world."
Freddie took a glug. His cel phone rang.
"Hello?" he said. "No. Yes, that's right. No, I - look, how did you even get this number? No- I am not. Yes, this is Freddie Glenn. No, I'm not THAT Freddie Glenn. No. No! Goodbye!"
The clock of the smiley plastic cat ticked.
Freddie sighed.
"You too, huh?" Adam said.
"Yes, apparently."
Adam was sitting on his couch. He was looking at the shadows of the birds, as they cast through his window and on to the wall. He whistled a tune and got up to throw on a CD of "Besides All That" by Steven Brown.
The doorbell rang. Then the person got cavalier and just threw the door open.
It was Freddie.
"Freddie Glenn! What's up!" Adam said enthusiastically.
"Hey Adam," Freddie said.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Freddie said. "I just got back from the Cash for Clunkers program."
"What's that?"
"It's some U.S. government thing they just started. It's weird. It has to do with like, trade in your old car and get a new car, and if the new car is like, a hybrid, or uses less gas, you can get some kind of rebate or something."
"Oh," Adam said.
"But I don't know," Freddie said, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with a beer. "I could be misunderstanding the whole thing. That's just what I picked up from reading the papers."
"Pfft," Adam said. "There's a lot of that going around."
Freddie gave him a blank look. "What do you mean?"
"There's some shit happening with an Adam Rubin. It's getting on my nerves. The phone has been ringing day and night. I don't even know who that is."
"Adam Rubin," Freddie considered.
"Yeah. I don't know. Some kind of NBA star or something. Maybe I'm getting old."
"I don't think you're that old," Freddie said. "Maybe it's just ... there are always new people in bad culture. Maybe you're not so bad off if you just ignore the bad culture altogether."
Adam scratched the variegated white spackle over his head. "I'm not so sure," he said. "I know what you're saying, but I could see the argument for both. It's also good to engage with the world."
Freddie took a glug. His cel phone rang.
"Hello?" he said. "No. Yes, that's right. No, I - look, how did you even get this number? No- I am not. Yes, this is Freddie Glenn. No, I'm not THAT Freddie Glenn. No. No! Goodbye!"
The clock of the smiley plastic cat ticked.
Freddie sighed.
"You too, huh?" Adam said.
"Yes, apparently."
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