“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Kristina, with a hint of a German accent.
“No, probably not,” said Jaime.
“You should go back to school and learn a skill. You could get a teaching certificate.”
“The smart thing to do, I’m sure.”
“Am I sounding like a broken record?” Kristina, the wife of his cousin Erik, was a doctoral student at the University of Arizona. Erik had told him that she had been born and grown up in Germany during the Second World War, had won a scholarship at the University of Florida, had arrived in Gainesville with only a rudimentary knowledge of English, and had graduated in three years with a 4.0 average.
“You guys have been great, but…”
A car horn sounded in the driveway.
“There’s my ride.” He shouldered a borrowed backpack and picked up a medium-sized suitcase. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
“Take care.”
Jaime stepped out of the air conditioning and into the bright, hot desert morning. He pitched his bag into the back seat of the Chevy Corsair.
“Jaime, my man.”
“Hi, Jerry.”
Jerry Reed struggled to get the car into reverse, then pulled out into the street.
“Wanna get high?” asked Jerry.
Jaime shook his head. “Too early in the morning for me.”
“Are you sure? This is your last chance before getting into that van with Aidan McNeil.”
“What have you got against Aidan?”
“I think he’s a narc.”
“Because he has short hair?”
“Because he smells like a cop.”
“What would a cop be doing selling encyclopedias?”
“Maybe they think we’re running dope.”
“Are we?”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“You made my point. He does seem like an odd duck, though. Why do you think Thorson hired him?”
“Let me tell you, man, those fuckin’ Mormons are gonna love Aidan and his all-American ass. Probably outsell the rest of us combined.”
“Mormons?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing but Mormons from Arizona to Canada.”
“I thought we were going north to get out of the heat.”
“You think management gives a shit about our comfort? They care about selling books. Mormons have kids, care about education, and buy books. We’d go where the Mormons are even if they lived in a furnace.”
“Huh.”
“Look, man, I keep telling you this is just a job, and if you work it right, you can make a lot of money.”
Ten minutes later they arrived at Bob Thorson’s rented house. He was helping Sally Shepard and Julie Alexander load their suitcases into his VW Microbus.
Barbara Dailey poked her head out the front door and called, “Bob, you can come and get my suitcase now.”
“I’ll get it,” said Jerry, walking to the house.
A car pulled up across the street and dropped off a tall, thick young man with a golden buzz cut. “That all you got, Aidan?” asked Bob, pointing to the backpack Aidan had slung over one shoulder. Aidan nodded and handed it to Thorson.
The van could hold nine adults, but the luggage took up two of the seats on the back bench. Sally and Julie piled into the first two-seat bench, Jaime and Jerry claimed the second, and Aidan accepted the isolation of the back bench. Bob drove and Barbara sat in the front passenger seat. For the most part, this was the seating arrangement for the entire trip.
Bob started the engine and country music blared from the radio. Sally and Julie talked about boyfriends, hair, shoes. Bob and Barbara exchanged a word now and then. Aidan was quiet as always. Jerry loved to talk, but never said much around Aidan. Jaime kept to himself, half sick to his stomach, contemplating knocking on strangers’ doors. Shortly, the only sounds were road noise and twanging guitars.
Jaime dug through his backpack for a book. He had The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert Heinlein, Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, and Schrodinger’s Cat: A Study in Quantum Physics by John Benson. He pulled out the old Heinlein standby, and lost himself the rebellion of a self-aware computer. Late in the morning, they left the interstate and took a two-lane road heading northeast. He started to feel car sick and put the book away.
****
The first day of his sophomore year, Jaime lined up for lunch at the Kelley Hall cafeteria. Tray in hand, he surveyed the crowd looking for a place to sit. Then he saw her across the room and thought to himself, who is THAT. She was short but sturdy; her surprisingly narrow waist was emphasized by her nicely rounded bottom, broad hips and shoulders, and more than adequate bosom. Her straight, chestnut brown hair fell down her back to her waist. Her nose and cheek bones were prominent, her forehead high. Her bright blue eyes were warm, her smile electric. She was bopping around a table that seated several girls from his own class, and they were all laughing. Given the company, it was unlikely she was a freshman.
That was his first impression of Ellie Martin, who had just transferred in as a second-year student.
As time went on Jaime and Ellie found themselves in the same circle. They shared an occasional class, attended the same parties, artist/lecture series events, coffee house performances, student art shows, and congregations in the Student Center between classes. They were even cast in the same student-directed, one-act play.
He asked her out, but she always seemed otherwise occupied. So, he marked her off his mental list of datable girls. But there were two incidents in their senior year that reopened the door. The first occurred in early October. As he walked through the Center on his way to his room, The Joker was playing on the jukebox, and Jaime began to sing along.
I'm a joker
I'm a smoker
I'm a mid-night toker
I get my lovin' on the run
He continued to sing while exiting the building, and realized that Ellie was walking toward him on the sidewalk. Ordinarily he would have shut up, but, to his astonishment, he serenaded her with the next verse.
You're the cutest thing that I ever did see
I really love your peaches
Want to shake your tree
To his relief, Ellie dimpled as they passed.
The weekend after Thanksgiving break, they were at a party together, chatting in the middle of a darkened living room.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“Do you remember me in Thematic Studies?”
“Absolutely I do.”
“Really? Huh.” She thought for a moment. “I’m sure I didn’t say more than two words that entire semester.”
Jaime smiled, “You don’t have to speak to be memorable. That pantomime workshop you were in? That thing you did with your lips was brilliant.”
“You mean this?” She mimed tugging a thread stitched to her right upper lip and then mimed tugging another thread stitched to her lower left lip. Finally, she mimed tugging both at the same time, the illusion of the threads totally convincing.
He laughed, and she laughed, a little embarrassed by his delight. “Such a silly thing to remember,” she said warmly.
“Maybe. And I do remember sitting across from you in Thematic Studies. Not so far away but completely out of reach.” A tiny shake of her head; an ironic smirk barely finding its way to her face. “What’s this?” he asked, imitating the shake of her head.
“The stuff in that class went right over my head, but you always had something thoughtful to say. And it seemed to me that a guy like that would never be interested in a girl like me.”
“Come on. I asked you out.” She stared at him. “Don’t you remember?”
“I remember. I was going to Michigan State to see my high school boyfriend the first time. The second time I was dating Bobby Mayo.”
“So, you see, I was interested.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Not sure what you mean.”
She looked down. “I didn’t think you be interested in me. Once you got know me, I thought you’d be bored.”
“I don’t think so, Ellie. The better I know you, the more mysterious you seem.”
****
The van pulled into Cedar City, Utah late in the afternoon. They checked into a cheap local motel, sucked down some fast food and headed out to the middle-class neighborhoods. Jerry, Bob and Barbara were the experienced book sellers, and as the van rolled up and down the streets, they began to shout excitedly.
“Look all that juice!” shouted Jerry.
“Look at all that kiddie shit!” exclaimed Bob.
“Swing sets, tricycles, sandboxes. This place is juicy!” called out Barbara.
The pep talk offended Jaime. It felt phony, manipulative, and increased his anxiety.
“Okay, Jaime,” said Bob, “we’re at the corner of College Avenue and S 100 E. You can go as far east as S 400 E and as far south as E 400 S.” Like all towns in Utah, the streets were named based on a grid system. The street name tells exactly where it is located; once understood, the naming convention makes directions unnecessary. “We’ll pick you up here between 9:00 and 9:30.”
Stepping onto the street, the crunch of loose gravel felt as remote as the grit on a lunar plane. Looking at the first house, the beat at his temples accelerated from allegro to presto. He took a deep breath, walked to the door, and rang the bell. No answer. Maybe nobody will be home, he hoped. He turned to the next house and worked his way down the street, ringing door bells and knocking on doors.
Contrary to his hopes, someone answered the door at most places. Some took one look and slammed the door in his face. Most listened to his door opener (“We’re in the neighborhood talking to folks about kids and education. I was wondering if you have few minutes you could spend with me.”), then said, “No, thanks,” and slammed the door in his face.
At one house, a man squinted at him suspiciously, and said, “You look like you could use a drink of water.”
“Yes, sir.” Jaime never called anybody “sir”.
“Come in.” The man closed the door. “You stay right there.” He went into the kitchen. Jaime could hear children laughing and playing on the second floor. The man returned moments later with a large glass of water. Jaime drank it down.
“Now, what are you selling?”
“The American Peoples Encyclopedia.”
“Are you aware that this town has a Green River Ordinance?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know what a Green River Ordinance is?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s a law that prohibits door to door sales without a license. Do you have a license?”
“No, sir.”
“If I see you knocking on any more doors, I’ll call the police.” He opened the door. “Now, get out of my house and get out of my town.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got to the pickup spot about 8:30. He sat down on the curb, got the Heinlein book out of his pack, and read until the light failed. He put the book back in the pack and just waited. The van came by at a little after 9; Bob was driving and Jerry was in the passenger seat. Jaime opened the side door and slid into the second-row seat.
“How’d it go?” asked Bob. “Did you get in any houses?”
“Yes, one.”
“How’d that go?”
“I got a lecture about something called a Green River Ordinance.”
“I see.”
“You knew about this.”
“Every town has a Green River Ordinance. It’s not enforced. And when they do, it’s just a misdemeanor.
“So, you knew about it and didn’t tell us.”
“Look, it’s no worse than rolling through a stop sign, and a damn sight less dangerous.”
Jaime made no reply.
“When did this happen?”
“The first half hour.”
“What did you do after that?”
“I went around a corner out of sight, and sat down for a few minutes. Then I went one block over and one down and knocked on doors.”
“Good man,” said Bob. He put the car in gear and moved on to the next pickup.
****
Seven months earlier, Jaime was sitting in the Student Center; it was just after seven pm and the place was deserted. Usually he would not have minded, but just then he was not only alone but lonely. Even though his circle of friends always seemed happy enough to have him hanging around, he just didn’t feel connected. He wondered if he was gone, would anybody notice. He sighed and studied his January syllabus.
A short time later, the back door to the Center banged open. He looked up but didn’t see anybody come by. Minutes later, he felt a presence slide into the booth across from him.
“Hi, Jaime.”
“Hi, Ellie.” He brightened.
“You want a bite of my brownie?” She was carrying a brownie in plastic wrap and a glass of milk.
“Yeah, sure.” She unwrapped the brownie, broke off a corner and handed it to Jaime.
He took a bite. “Mmmm, good.”
“Yup.”
“How’re you doing?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m a little sad.”
“Really?” She didn’t look sad to him, munching her brownie. “How come?”
“A bunch of the girls from my house went to see The Way We Were. It’s a very sad movie. We all cried.”
“Nothing serious, then?”
“No, nothing serious,” she confirmed and smiled at him. “What’ve you got there?” she pointed at the papers in front of him.
“Course description for my January class.”
“Which class?”
“Theater of Henrich Ibsen.”
“Who?”
“Norwegian playwright. Wrote and produced plays in the last half of the nineteenth century.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds kind of boring.”
“Well, maybe. But it’s going to be cake.”
“Only you would think a Norwegian playwright is cake.”
“No, really. We’re going to read four plays in class and write a five-page paper at the end. Two to three hours a day max. The rest of the time will be pickup basketball and dancing girls.”
She narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t notice.
“What are you doing for January?” he asked
“Working on my senior paper.”
“Oh? What’s it on?”
“Learning disabilities.”
“Learning disabilities?”
“Yeah, like dyslexia and attention deficit disorder. They’re sort of built-in roadblocks that keep people from learning.”
“Oh, right, you’re a psychology major.”
“And El Ed.”
“You’re going to be a teacher?”
“That’s the plan.”
“How practical.”
That irritated her. “Yeah, so, what are you going to do after graduation?”
“No clue.”
“Really?”
“Probably dig ditches or something. But I’ll think deep thoughts while I do it.” He grinned.
“What’s your major? English, right?”
“Worse. Humanities.”
“What did you think you were going to do with that?”
“Write fiction.”
“You mean for a living?”
“That’s the dream.”
“Wow! That’s cool.”
“I don’t hear that very often.”
“What do people say?”
“Mostly they say, ‘What? Are you nuts?’”
“Who says that?”
“Oh, parents, teachers, classmates. Just the people that know me.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“You haven’t read my stuff.”
“I’d like to.”
“Anytime.”
She picked crumbs of brownie off the plastic wrap and downed the last of her milk. “How was your Christmas?” she asked.
“Not great. I was here.”
“You what?”
“I was here.” He paused and looked at her. “Did you know my parents live in Europe?”
“No!”
“Yes! And traveling to Europe is a giant pain in the ass. It’s like twenty hours of travel, door to door, and two days of jet lag each way. That’s six wasted days. And the reward is a fortnight in jolly old downtown Kapellen.”
“Kapellen?”
“A small town north of Antwerp in Belgium.”
“Makes me sad thinking of you here all alone.”
“Yeah, it was lonely. I didn’t do it on purpose, though. I just wasn’t very motivated to book my flights. By the time I got around to it, there was nothing available.” He shook his head. “Boy, was my mom pissed. Christmas is a big deal for her. The tree, stockings, presents, Christmas music, the big family dinner. She loves that stuff.”
“Don’t you?”
“Oh, sure. I just messed up. How was your Christmas?”
“It was nice. Kind of boring, but, you know, my family doesn’t make a big deal out of Christmas.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, my Dad thinks it’s too commercial. We exchange a few gifts and eat lobster tail.”
“Even when you were a little kid? With presents from Santa and all?”
“No, we didn’t believe in Santa. My Dad doesn’t think adults should impose their fantasies on kids.” Jaime thought he sounded like the Grinch, but kept it to himself. Then she laughed. “My grandmother gives us each two dollars every year.”
“Even your parents?”
“Yup.”
The snack bar cashier poked her head around the corner of booth. “Hey, guys, we’re closing. Going to have to ask you to leave.”
Jaime gather up his papers as they got up out of the booth. He followed Ellie out the back.
“This is where you sang to me, isn’t?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, feigning nonchalance.
“That was sweet.” They stopped at the parking lot to his rooming house.
“Would you like to come up and read one of my stories?”
She hesitated.
“Look, I’m not inviting you to view my etchings. I’m just… just enjoying our conversation.”
She nodded slowly, and then said, “Okay.”
He led her to the side door and up the stairs to the second floor. He unlocked the door to his room and flipped on the overhead light. She stepped in and looked around. He had two rooms. The first was a sitting room: sofa, recliner, coffee table made of plywood and cinder blocks. The walls were blue, the ceiling white; there was a print of Marc Chagall’s Lovers in the Moonlight on the wall. He walked into the other room and turned on the desk lamp. That room had white walls and a blue ceiling; it contained his desk, books, dresser, closet, stereo and a single bed. He turned on the stereo and started the LP that was already on the record player – The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys by Traffic.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Thanks.” He turned on the overhead light, opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thick folder. Looking through it, he found a three-page, type-written story. He put it on the desk and held the chair for Ellie.
“Oh,” she said, putting a hand to her chest, and sat. She saw that this story had been a class assignment and there was a big black “B-“ at the top and a few barely legible comments in the margins. “Who graded this?”
“Dr. Wills. He thinks I stink. But that’s okay; I do, too. I don’t care too much what other people think right now. I’m just trying to learn how to tell a story.”
She nodded and started to read. It was about a sixteen-year-old boy working as counselor’s aide at a YMCA summer camp. The boy hated the camp and wrote his parents that he wanted to come home. The core of the story is an exchange between the boy and his father.
“If you come home, you will have to get up every morning at six o’clock,” said his father.
“Okay.”
“If you come home, you will have to get up every morning at six o’clock, and go out and look for a job.”
“Okay.”
He looked down at his son, and finally said, “If you come home, you will lose my respect and you will never get it back.”
The boy looked down at the gravel at his feet. He looked up with tears in his eyes. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
She finished the last page and looked up at him.
“What do you think?”
“You mean besides the misspelled words and the words you left out?”
He smiled. “Yes, besides that.”
“Well, I liked it,” she said without much conviction. “I thought the father was really mean.”
“That story is autobiographical.”
“Your father said that to you?”
“Yes, but not to be cruel. He said it out of love and desperation. He couldn’t let me continue to quit things just because they were hard. If he hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t’ve finished my first semester here.”
“It was hard?”
“Yes. I was homesick, not making friends, not doing well in class. And the women wouldn’t give me the time of day. It was awful.”
“What happened?”
“I figured out the school part, and, for the most part, everything else worked itself out over time.” He smiled. “How about you? Did your father give you everything your heart desired?”
“Well, no. He promised me a ballet barre once.”
“So, you’re a dancer?”
“Not really. I sure would have liked taking lessons, but we never had the money. We did have money for piano lessons, though.”
“So, you play?”
“Yes, piano and flute.”
“Where did you learn the flute?”
“At school. I played in the school band and marching band. My best friend, Sherry, and I traded off first chair. We wanted to play in the jazz band, but there was no music for flute. So, we went to Mr. Harrison and asked if we could transpose the clarinet part. He said we could try it, and that’s how we wound up playing in the Jazz Band our senior year.”
“That took some hutzpah.”
“Yes, my Daddy calls me a hussy.”
“What does your Dad do?”
“He’s Director of Development at Davis and Elkins college.”
“What’s that?”
“Fund raising. He talks to donors and foundations.”
“And your mom?”
“She’s a housewife.”
“Mine, too.”
The record finished, and Jaime turned on the FM receiver. It was tuned to the college station; the DJ was Marvin Manley, a defensive tackle on the football team. He played R&B, mostly Motown, from his own record collection. Jaime started to turn it off.
“No,” cried Ellie, “I love Marv’s show.”
“You do?” he said quizzically.
“We lived in Silver Spring for a year. All the kids, black and white, listened to Motown.” Then the opening cords of Ain’t to Proud to Beg came through the speakers. “Oh, turn it up! I love this song!” She bounced to her feet and started to dance, gesturing an invitation.
He joined her, feeling awkward. An average dancer at best, the beat was just a little too slow for him. He shook his hips, pumped his arms and rocked his head, but kept his feet firmly planted on the floor. She smiled at him, increasing his discomfort. He turned and did a poor imitation of Chuck Berry’s duck walk, and she laughed. Then she broke into line dance steps she’d learned in Maryland. She tried to show him the steps, but it was hopeless. She continued by herself to the end of the song. He clapped and she bowed.
The next song blended in with the previous; it was a slow love song which he later learned was If this World Were Mine by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. He opened his arms offering her a second dance. She hesitated, then nodded and came to him. She put her left hand on his shoulder, her right hand in his left.
He put his right hand on her back and drew her to him. She turned her head and laid her face on his chest.
They swayed, took tiny steps and slowly turned in a circle. The song ended. They parted slightly; he looked down and she looked up. He felt he could have kissed her then, but he didn’t. She blushed and looked away and sat down at the desk.
Jaime turned the music down and sat down on the floor with his back to the bed.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” he asked.
“One sister.”
“Older?”
She nodded. “She’s married.”
She told him about her sister and her brother-in-law. He told her about his two sisters. They talked about their grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. They talked about family vacations and the things their families did for fun. They talked about their childhoods, their early schooling, books they liked as children, their favorite TV shows, their pre-adolescent disappointments. They talked about high school, learning to drive, going to prom, people they had dated. They talked about race relations, women’s rights, the war in Vietnam. They talked about movies, art, music, the books they were reading currently.
At some point in the middle of this Ellie got up and looked at his books, his record collection, his open closet. Then she came and sat down on the bed. After a little bit, he got off the floor and sat on the bed leavinga foot between them. Slowly, imperceptibly, unconsciously the gap between them closed without them ever quite touching.
“What time is it?” she asked.
He looked his alarm clock. “Oh, wow, it’s like 3:40.”
“Oh, gee, maybe I should go.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Neither am I.”
So, they continued to talk. Around 6:00, Jaime laid down on the bed.
“Oh, if you want to sleep…”
“No, no, just resting. There’s no point in sleeping now; I have to be in class in three hours.”
“Here, scoot over.” And she laid down with her back to him. “Can I share your pillow?”
“Of course.”
He put his arms around her. They laid there, spooning, eyes closed, but as awake as they had ever been in their lives.
She snuggled in closer and said, “This nice.”
“Yes,” he said, “yes.”
At 7:30 he sat up and said. “I am not the least bit sleepy, but I am really hungry. How about you?”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Where do you eat?”
“At the Kappa Sig House.”
“Oh, well, I have to walk over to the Kelley Hall cafeteria.”
“That’s where all the women are, right?” she said with a sly smile.
“Not all and not the best. Can I see you after class?”
“I think I’ll probably need a nap. When does your class end?”
“Around two.”
“I’ll come and see you when I wake up.”
Jaime walked across the quad after class. Peer Gynt had not held his attention. It is a confusing play; it had dozens of characters with odd names or no names at all, and a peculiar mix of realistic and fantasy scenes. He had been given a few small parts to read and had to be prompted every time one came up.
He opened the door to his house; Ellie was seated at the top of the stairs. She stood and her face lit up; He took the stairs three at a time. They embraced, she on the top step, he on the one below. They kissed, gently at first. He kissed her cheeks and forehead, and hugged her tightly.
He looked her in the face. “Ellie, I never said this any woman before -- I love you.”
She drew back and started to turn away; he caught her arm.
“I… I… I can’t…” she stuttered.
“It’s okay. I know. I know it’s scary. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” He hugged her again, astounded by his confidence. But even the calcium in his bones, the iron in his blood, the carbon in his DNA sang that he was no longer alone.
***
Bob Thorson roused them out of bed at 9:00 am. They checked out, got breakfast, and headed to Ogden, Utah. They spent three nights in Ogden. During that time, Bob had made six sales, Jerry one, Barbara one. Both Sally and Julie had made a presentation. Neither Aidan nor Jamie had gotten that far. Bob seemed unconcerned.
They moved on to Pocatello, Idaho. On the first night Jamie rang a bell and an attractive woman in her early thirties answered the door.
“Evening, ma’am. I’m in the neighborhood talking to folks about kids and education. I was wondering if you have a few minutes you could spend with me.”
“Sure. Come on in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped into the house. “I’m supposed to talk to the husband and wife together. Is your husband at home?”
“Yes, he is. I’ll get him.” As they walked into the living room, she patted an overstuffed chair. “Have a seat.”
She continued to another room. “Come on, Tom,” he heard her say, “we got some company.”
A male voice said something.
“I don’t know. But all you do is watch that darn TV. Won’t hurt you to talk to another human being for a few minutes.” They walked into the living room.
Jaime greeted the husband, “Good evening. My name is Jaime Thompson.”
“I’m Bonnie Sales. This here is my husband Tom.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sales.”
“Bonnie.”
Jaime nodded. “Mr. Sales,” he said extending his hand.
“Call him Tom.”
He took Jaime’s hand reluctantly. The other man’s hand was rough with calluses, his grip powerful.
“Can I get you something to drink, Jaime?”
“A glass of water would be nice, thank you.”
Jamie began to unpack his materials in the uncomfortable silence. “Nice house you have here, Mr. Sales.”
“What’s this about?”
“As I told Bonnie, I’m in the neighborhood talking about kids and education.” She returned and handed the glass to Jaime. “Thank you.” His hand shook as he took a sip of the water.
He took a breath and launched into the scripted sales presentation. He pointed to the framed picture of two blonde-haired children, a boy and a girl. “Are those your kids?”
“Yes,” said Bonnie smiling. “That’s Delia and Adam.”
Jaime smiled, too, because he had elicited the first “yes” from Bonnie. The presentation was designed to ask easy “yes/no” questions early and ask progressively more difficult questions as the presentation proceeded. All the “yes” answers programmed the couple to answer “yes” to the final question.
“They certainly look happy in that picture.”
“Yes, they do.”
“Where do they go to school?”
“Delia is starting at Waring Junior High in fall, and Adam goes to Marshall Elementary.”
“They grow up so fast.”
“Yes.”
“And the demands of school get heavier all the time.”
“They do.”
Since Bonnie was answering all the questions, Jamie began to focus on her. “Do you think some really good reference material in the home would help with that?”
“Well, I’m sure it would.”
“I represent the American Peoples Encyclopedia, and I’d like show you an example of our books.” He handed Bonnie a copy of the “M” volume. “That’s got some weight to it, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” She seemed impressed.
Then he showed her the color panels: state maps for Maryland and Minnesota, Michelangelo paintings, minerals and moths.
“Oh,” she said, “oh.”
“Is there an ‘M’ subject you’d like to look at?”
“Well”, she said, “I’ve always wanted to go to Mexico.”
“All right.” Jaime opened the book to the article on Mexico. He showed them the two-page map, color pictures of tourist beaches, Mayan pyramids, native costumes. He showed them articles on each of the Mexican states, Mexico City, a brief history of the country, major exports and so on.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“How about you, Tom? Is there an ‘M’ subject you’d like to look at?”
“Mechanic.”
Jaime thumbed through the book to find “mechanic”. The entry said, “See section on Vocational Opportunities in the articles: AUTOMOBILE; AVIATION; FIRE DEPARTMENT.”
Tom gave Jaime a sour look.
“Well,” said Jaime, “well, unfortunately I don’t have the ‘A’ or ‘F’ books with me.”
“Oh, Tom, if we want to know what a mechanic does, we can just go to work with you.”
Jaime took out the large color brochure that showed the complete collection and samples of several other color panels and articles.
“Wouldn’t you be proud to display this set of books in your home?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I see you get the newspaper,” Jaime said pointing to a s stack in basket beside the sofa. “May I look at them for a moment?”
“Of course.”
He dug through the papers and found the front page from two days ago. “So, here’s a headline: IRA Claims Responsibility for Parliament Bombing. And the article tells you about the events of the day, but it doesn’t tell you much else. You or your children might have a lot other questions: Where is the Parliament Building located, what does it look like, what is the IRA, how long has it been around, why did they plant the bomb, does the IRA pose any threat to my family, and so on. This is the power of the newspaper and these books when you put them together. The newspaper will tell you what happened and books can help you understand why it happened. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” she said.
“How much does the newspaper cost? Two dollars a week?”
“Well, about that, yes.”
“And it’s a good value. Over five years that’s only $500 for detailed information about the world, the US, and Ogden? But that $500 is much more than you will pay for these books over the same period. Let me ask you, do you drink soda?”
“Tom does. He drinks like three or four a day.”
“Well, the cost of these books is roughly equivalent to the cost of two sodas a day. Is that a sacrifice you’re willing to make for you children’s education?
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“So, here’s what these books will cost you: a $25 down payment and $17.50 a month for eighteen months. So, what do you say. Would you like to buy the books?”
“Yes,” said Bonnie.
“NO!” said Tom.
Jaime climbed into the van, and Bob, as usual, asked, “How’d it go?”
“I made a presentation.”
“That’s great! Congratulations!” Bob shook his hand. “What happened? Why didn’t you make the sale?”
“I don’t know. It was weird; they were saying ‘yes’ to every question. But at the end the wife said ‘yes’ and the husband said, ‘no’.
“The husband ever answer ‘yes’?”
Jaime narrowed his eyes thinking back. “Ah, no, I guess not.”
“You have to get both spouses involved. It’s okay if one them is a little quieter, but you have to make sure they both say yes on the first couple of questions. After that you have to check in with the quiet spouse every few questions.”
Jaime nodded.
“But that’s all right. You made a presentation and you must have done okay. You got one of them to say yes.”
****
Jaime walked back to his room in the late January gloom, and found Ellie asleep on the unfolded sofa-bed. He sat down at his desk, turned on the lamp and opened the letter he had just found in his mailbox. He grunted quietly, and peered around the corner at the sleeping girl. Then he took out his notebook and worked on the rough draft of his Ibsen paper.
A few minutes later a sleepy voice from the other room croaked, “Did you just get back?”
He picked up the letter, went to the bed and sat on the edge. She put out her arms to embrace him. He leaned over, slid one arm behind her back, and kissed her.
“Mmmm,” she said, “nice.”
“Yes.”
“Something wrong?”
“Well, no.”
She pushed on his chest and they sat up. “What’s up?” she asked, suddenly awake.
He stood and turned on the overhead light and sat back down on the bed. “Do you remember that first night? You asked what I was going to do after graduation.”
“Yes.”
“We were talking about jobs. What I didn’t say was that I had a plan.”
“To do what?”
“I’ve been thinking about going to Arizona for more than a year. I have a cousin in Phoenix who’s vice president of a big architectural firm. My father suggested I write him and ask if I could stay with him while I look for job. I wrote to him in December before I met you.” He held up the letter. “This is the reply.”
“What did he say?”
He handed her the letter, and she read the single paragraph.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Well, I want to go. I want us to go to Arizona.”
“Do you mean stay with your cousin?”
“Oh, no, I think that would be asking a lot. I was thinking that I would go and get a job and a place to stay. Then you would join me.”
She laid back down on the bed and stared at ceiling.
“It would be an adventure,” she said. “What’s Phoenix like?”
“Dry. Warm all year ‘round.”
“But I like the cold.”
“Yes, I know. Will you think about it?”
“Yes. Wow, I’ve never been to Arizona.”
****
Just as Bob Thorson finished checking them out of the motel in Ogden, Jaime realized he had left his book in his room and went back to get it. When Jaime climbed into the van, he was dismayed to the find the only available seat was next to Aidan McNeil. He stored his back pack under the seat and settled down to read his book.
An hour later, he laid the book on his lap and looked out at the parched northern Utah landscape. They were currently driving though a stretch of road that split the narrow strip between the Wasatch Mountains and Willard Bay Reservoir. The mountains were browning in the midsummer sun, but were still quite beautiful.
He turned to look at the reservoir as his seat mate turned to look at the mountains; their eyes met.
“How are you doing, Aidan?” Jaime asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you enjoying the trip?”
“Yes. I’ve never been in this part of the country before.”
“Oh really, where are you from?”
“Phoenix. Scottsdale, actually.”
“You grew up there?”
“Yes.”
“Lived there your whole life, then?”
“Oh, no. I lived other places.”
“Like where?”
“I went to San Francisco right after high school.”
“When was that?”
“Sixty-seven.”
“You were in San Francisco for the Summer of Love?” He could sense Sally and Julie behind him lean into to the conversation.
He nodded. “Those were the days, man. That’s when ‘sex, drugs and rock and roll’ really meant something.” Barb shifted in seat so that she could see Aidan.
“Did you spend time in Haight-Ashbury?”
“Lived in the Haight, man.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“What did you do?”
“Worked on my art, painting, you know. Hung out, the usual stuff.”
“Did you wear flowers in your hair?”
He grinned. “On occasion. A little hard to imagine now.”
“How did you live? I mean what did you do for money?”
“Oh, I worked at Tower Records mostly. Might have been involved the black-market economy from time to time.”
“Black market economy?”
“You know.” Aidan half shrugged as if to say, don’t be so stupid.
“Oh,” said Jaime, “I see.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“So, how long were you in San Francisco?
“Oh, about a year. You know, it was kind of a paradise, but it couldn’t last. After a while the drugs became more important to some people than the vibe, if you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“People got jealous about some guy or some woman. There were fist fights, then knife fights, and then guns started showing up. And there were ODs. People died.
“Of, course, the Man couldn’t let it be, either. People with that much freedom made the fat cats nervous. So, the pigs, I mean the police, started to crack down. You know, they broke up parties, rousted you if you were out on the street in the middle of the afternoon or the middle of the night. Some guys got beat up for no good reason. It just got to be too much of a hassle.
“My girlfriend at the time wanted to go back to LA. Her old man was loaded and he put us up in this swanky apartment.” He laughed. “This one time at three o’clock in the morning she was in bed and I was painting an abstract pointillist mural on the dining room wall. It came into my head that this huge earthquake was about to happen and LA was going to slide into the ocean. So, I got out of there.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Well, no place. I just started walking.”
“You were trying to walk out of LA?”
“There may or may not have been hallucinogens involved.” He smiled. “I got about three blocks and the cops stopped me. I’d left my ID at the apartment, and they seemed to think I was incoherent, talking about earthquakes and such. So, they put me in the drunk tank. And there I was thinking the big one was coming. I was crying and yelling and carrying on. I was sure I was going die in that cell.”
“What happened?”
“LA’s still there right? They let me out in the morning and I walked back to the apartment.” He frowned. “Then she went to work for her Dad; not long after that she booted me out.”
“She just put you out on the street?”
“No, she gave me bus fare to Phoenix. I guess she thought LA wasn’t big enough for the both of us.”
“So, you went home.”
“Yep. And that’s where my draft board caught up with me.”
“You went in the Army?”
“Yep. Talk about your culture shock.”
“Did you go to Vietnam?”
“Yeah, sure, but I had it easier than most guys. I was an MP in Saigon.”
“So, you were a cop.”
“Not by choice.”
“But your time in Vietnam was okay?’
“Not really. I mean, the first six months were a lot like San Francisco. Other than time on duty, it was party city. Plenty of women, booze, occasionally other recreational substances. Then one night I was on duty and I got called out to an off-limits hotel where some GIs were making a ruckus. Me and my partner went to the room and knocked on the door. No answer, but we could hear loud music and the sounds of a party. I tried the door and it was unlocked; there were four guys in there with a half-dozen hookers, a bunch of drugs and a pile of money on the coffee table. They had gambling equipment like a roulette wheel and stuff. So, I busted ‘em. They tried to offer us money and I added that to the charges. Turns out they were MPs.”
“And that was bad.”
“You bet your ass it was bad. It’s an unwritten rule that MPs don’t bust MPs. Nobody wanted to be around me. Not in the barracks, not in the office, not on patrol. Everybody was afraid that someone would roll a grenade in on us. It got so bad that I had to sleep in a different place every night. Once the trial was over, they shipped me back stateside to Fort Hood. Even there, people were a little skittish around me.”
“So, MPs all over the world were gunning for you?”
Aidan shrugged. “When my tour was up I got out, and went back to Phoenix to look for a job.”
“And that’s how you wound up here?”
“No, that was almost four years ago.”
Jaime looked at Aidan, clearly confused.
Aidan sighed. “I’d been in the military for two years, and being a civilian again was just weird. It showed in job interviews, I guess.” He took a deep breath and blew it out his lips. “I kept getting these recruiting letters and calls from the Marines. They were offering to reinstate my army rank and pay grade. My dad was threatening to kick me out of the house. I figured, what the hell, at least I’d have three squares and a roof over my head. The only catch was I had to go through boot camp again. But I thought, I’ve done it before, how hard can it be?
“Boy, was I wrong. I thought the summers in Phoenix were hot; you haven’t been hot until you’ve been to Parris Island in August. And Marine boot camp is ‘way harder than Army boot camp. Five, ten, fifteen-mile hikes with full pack, alternating march, quick time and double time. Everybody was puking their guts out except the DI. I said, fuck this shit, I’m out of here.”
“You went AWOL?” asked Jaime.
“Yeah. I went to Detroit and got a job in an auto factory. That winter I saw my first snow. I loved it. Snow balls, sledding, it was great. But the next spring, I got laid off with like 10,000 other guys. And I went back to Phoenix. My dad talked me into giving myself up, and I wound up in the brig at Parris Island.
“You know, it’s funny, they had us doing conservation work, clearing brush and such. Which I didn’t mind as long I was getting sergeant’s pay, but after the trial they busted me to a private. I refused to do that back-breaking work for that amount of money. What more could they do to me?
“There was this Marine lieutenant who was the brig officer, ah…, yeah, I forget his name. He inspected the brig every morning after the guards took the inmates out for work detail. So, this one morning I drew wings on my calves with a magic marker, and, when I heard him coming, I stood naked in the toilet. As he passed by, I flushed the toilet, stood at attention and saluted him. And he says to me, ‘McNeil, you have the wrong attitude.’ A couple days later they shipped me to Portsmouth.”
“Portsmouth?”
“The Naval prison in Portsmouth, Maine. It wasn’t too bad; I took lots of art courses while I was there.”
“When’d you get out?”
He rubbed the top his head. “Let’s just say this is the result of my last encounter with a prison barber.”
Boise, Idaho
July 14, 1974
My Dearest Ellie,
My career as a book salesman is over. I haven’t told Bob or anybody yet, but I have decided not to knock on any more doors. It being Sunday, they dropped me off in a neighborhood at about 3 in the afternoon and I walked around until I found a park. I have been lying in the shade and reading ever since.
The reason I decided to quit is that I sold a set of books. I know that sounds odd; it’s been my goal to sell books through a week of training, traveling a thousand miles, stops in four different cities, ringing hundreds of doorbells, doors slammed in my face, eating bad food, and sleeping in worse beds.
Yesterday afternoon at like the fifth house, this young guy, younger than me, came to the door. I give him the door opener, and he says, “Well, I don’t have kids, but I hope to someday. Come in.”
The house was a little dirty and cluttered. The furniture was hand-me-downs and garage sale cast-offs. I said, “I’m supposed to talk to the husband and wife together.”
He said, “She’s lying down. She’s not feeling so good.”
I said, “I can come back at another time.”
He says, “Let me go see how she’s doing.” A moment later they came out together; she was tiny, perhaps an inch taller than you, but bird-like. She looked fifteen, but might have been as old as eighteen. She was wrapped in a light blanket, had blonde hair, a red nose and watery eyes.
“Hello,” she said in he this tiny, sweet, gravelly voice. We introduced ourselves and I offered to come back when she was feeling better. “No,” she said, “I’m fine. My kitten just died.” A tear leaked out of her eye, and she dabbed her face with a tissue. “It’ll be nice to have somebody to talk to.”
So, we sat down and I gave them the presentation. They were subdued at first, especially the girl, but as the presentation went on, they became more and more enthusiastic about the books. In the end, they wrote a check and signed the contract. They hugged me on the way out the door.
That night after pickup, we went out for pizza and beer to celebrate my sale. I was the conquering hero. But I couldn’t get to sleep thinking about those two kids. I had taken advantage of their loss to sell them a set of encyclopedias that they could not afford. How low can you get?
Pretty low, I guess. Oh, Ellie, I miss you so much that my chest aches. I just had to tell somebody how terrible I feel about this. I think it is one of the worst things I’ve ever done.
I am trying so hard to find a job so that we can be together in Arizona. I will start the search again once I get back to Phoenix.
I love you so much,
Jaime
P.S. I included a small drawing of a house next to the park with mountains in the background. I can’t draw worth a damn, but I think it turned out okay.
Jaime and Jerry dumped their luggage into the trunk of Jerry’s car and Jaime jumped into the passenger seat. Jerry started the car and pulled away from the curb.
“What happened?” asked Jaime. “Why did they cut the trip short? We were supposed to be out another five or six days.”
“The trip was a bust.”
“A bust?”
“Yeah, nobody was selling anything except Bob. You sold one, I sold two, Barb sold one. That’s not enough to justify meals and lodging for six people. Bob’s boss pulled the plug. Also, I think Bob and Barb had a fight and broke up. Everybody just wanted to get home.”
“I sure did.”
“So, you’re done selling books?”
“Oh, yeah. I was done Sunday.”
“Don’t sweat it. Very high attrition in this business. For what it’s worth, I’m done, too. So is everybody else except Bob.”
When Jerry dropped him off, Erik’s car was in the carport and the lights were on in the house. He let himself in the door, and called, “Hello, I’m back.”
Erik and Kristina were sitting at the dining room table eating. Kristina called, “Jaime, we weren’t expecting you until next week.”
“Yeah, probably should have called to let you know, but there wasn’t really an opportunity. We drove straight through from Boise. Twenty-six, twenty-seven hours with bathroom stops and all.”
“Would you like something to eat?”
“No, later maybe.” He nodded at his cousin, “Erik.”
“Jaime,” he replied. “I was actually talking to our office manager about you today.”
“Really?”
“Shirley was telling me that we need some temporary help at the office. I told her that you might be available next week.”
“As it happens, I’m free.”
“You quit?”
“Nothing as formal as that,” said Jaime. And then he smiled. “I’d be happy help out any way I can.”
“Don’t you want to know what you’ll be doing?”
“Is it selling books?”
“No.”
“Then I’m good.”
“Alright, I’ll let Shirley know.”
A week later Jaime was sitting in the technical library, replacing pages in the Arizona Architectural Regulations binders with the updates from June 1973. He had already completed the updates from the previous four months and had thirteen more months of updates to go. Then there was a similar task for New Mexico, California, Colorado and Nevada regulations.
Erik poked his head in the library door and said, “Hey, you got a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s go to my office.”
Jaime followed him out the door. As a vice president of Southwest Architects, Erik had a window office on the north side of the building with a view of Camelback Mountain.
“Close the door,” said Erik as they walked in. They sat down. “How it’s going?”
“Well, updating the regs is pretty tedious, but occasionally Shirley sends me on an errand. Yesterday afternoon I took Randall Barrett out to get his apartment set up. That was pretty interesting. How does a guy get to be thirty-eight and not know how to drive?”
“He’s been in a cocoon at Taliesin West since he was sixteen. Student, teaching assistant, staff architect. He lived on campus, ate in the dining hall. He’s a great architect, but kind of immature. We’re going to have to baby him along until he gets the hang of the real world, I’m afraid.”
“But, yeah, it was fun. It was kind of a unique conversation.”
“You seem to get along with the architects and draftsmen.”
“It’s an interesting place. Lots of smart, creative people.”
Erik nodded. “So, to the main point. Shirley loves your work; she wants to hire you fulltime.”
“Really?” said Jaime. “Even supposing I could stay sane for the two months it will take to update all those binders, what would I do when I finish? It will only take a couple days a month to keep them updated.”
“Yes, that’s why we don’t have a fulltime librarian. But I think there are other things you could do. For example, ever heard of an Environmental Impact Statement?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s this new thing the government requires with every set of plans. It calls out the geological and biological effects of the building, and the mitigations we will make to offset them.”
“But I don’t know any of that stuff.”
“Nobody knows it all. But in the end, somebody’s got to put all the pieces together in a report. Right now, architects are doing it, and it’s expensive. If we can find somebody cheaper to do it, say you, then we add dollars to the bottom line.” Erik could see that Jaime was not convinced. “Let’s do this, let me get you a set of supporting documents and the finished report, and you tell me if you think you can learn to do it.”
“Ok.”
“But Jaime, I’m sure there are a lot of things that you can do to save time for the architects and the project managers. If you can help us, we’ll pay you what it’s worth.”
“Well,” said Jaime, warming to the idea, “that would be great.”
Erik called a greeting to Kristina as he and Jaime walked into the house. Erik strode to his bedroom. Jaime found Kristina in the kitchen where she was drinking a tall glass of iced tea. Her shoulder length blonde hair was up in a French twist, and she had applied a little makeup. She was wearing a black cocktail dress, a small gold chain around her neck and sandals on her feet.
“Hi, Kristina,” Jaime said. “You look nice. Going out?”
She nodded. “Dinner party tonight. How was your day?”
“Not bad. And you?”
“About the usual.” Jaime got a glass out of the cupboard and poured a glass of water from the free-standing water cooler. “By the way, there’s a letter for you on the dining room table.”
“Oh, thanks.” He stepped into the dining room, and saw at once that it was from Ellie. He opened it with a grin on his face.
Elkins, West Virginia
August 4, 1974
Dear Jaime,
I’ve gotten to know the VISTA worker who’s helping us set up the day camps. She’s from Austin, Texas and has this really heavy southern accent that sounds really put on. She acted like it was cool to be from there, but she’s nice. Anyway, last night we went to see Blazing Saddles because some of the other counselors saw it and said it was really funny. We thought it was really stupid, all that farting. We couldn’t believe how hard everyone else was laughing.
I’ve been thinking about our plan for me to come out there and I’m feeling a little nervous about it. I’m kinda scared to go out there when neither of us has a job and it’s so far away from my family. Now that I have this teaching job in Ohio, I feel like I should stay here. You could come back here, but after being apart for so long I don’t feel like I can really guarantee anything.
Love,
Ellie
He sat down with a groan.
“Jaime,” called Kristina, “are you okay?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked coming into the dining room.
“She dumped me.”
“Oh, Jaime.”
“I think I’m going to go lay down,” he said and went to the guest room. A short while later he heard the phone ring and then a knock at the door.
“Yes?” he said.
“There’s phone call for you,” said Kristina.
“Thanks,” he said. He looked around the room, but there were no tissues. He wiped his face on the bedspread and went to the kitchen where the phone was mounted on the wall. The receiver was lying on the counter.
“Hello,” he said.
“Jaime.”
“Ellie?”
“Did you get my letter?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Yes, just now.”
“Jaime, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. Sorry about what?”
“Jaime, you sound hurt.”
“What did you expect?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. As soon as I mailed that letter, I was afraid there would be a misunderstanding.”
“What’s there to misunderstand?”
“Jaime, I’m not like you. I’m scared.”
“I can understand being scared. But what am I supposed to think when you say there are no guarantees?”
“Oh, Jamie,” he could hear her trying not to cry. “I want you to come back. Please, please, come back.”
He sat down on a kitchen chair. “You want me to come back?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice very small.
“I don’t know,” he said. “My parents are landing in San Francisco in couple of weeks. I haven’t seen them in a year. So, I think I’ll go hang out with them.” He paused, not knowing what to say. “I just don’t know, Ellie. I’m going to have to think about it.”
“I still love you.”
He nodded, aware that she couldn’t see him. He wiped a tear from his face. “I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Okay.”
“So, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.”
He stood and hung up the phone. He put his hand on the counter to steady himself.
Kristina poked her head around the corner. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…”
Jaime just looked at her.
“Well, maybe I did.” She stepped into the kitchen. “Are you alright?”
“Better than five minutes ago.”
“So, she didn’t ‘dump you’, as you say?”
“I guess not. But she does want to change the deal.”
“She wants you to go back east?”
“Yes.”
“What will you do?”
“I didn’t tell her, so I can hardly tell you.”
“But you know.”
“Yes, I know.”