The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (5 page)

While Charlie had only skimmed the book
The Corporate Buddha
, he did read a chapter on “bottoming out”—a belief that when things were going bad, it was best to get out of the way and let them go bad, let things fall completely apart, until you’ve hit bottom.

According to the Buddha (who had been Burger King’s human resource director before becoming a monk), bottoming out was an essential part of the natural ebb and flow of life, the cyclical, To Every Season rhythm of things. Rather than fighting the fall, the Buddha believed that you should endure it, then, afterward, accurately assess the damage, learn from your mistakes, and move on. The key, of course, was knowing when you’d hit bottom.

Charlie suspected the bottom was coming into plain view when he asked Rafael, a bellman at the Four Seasons Hotel in downtown Chicago, if he could send a prostitute up to his room. He had finished checking in and was standing by the elevators when he did this.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

He repeated his request.

“I’m sorry, sir, no,” Rafael said. He was standing close to the elevators resplendent in a red and gold uniform, complete with an impressive tall black cap that had a tightly knotted gold braid dangling from it. He reminded Charlie of one of the witch’s guards in
The Wizard of Oz.

“O-E-O! O-YEEE-O!” Charlie shouted, and marched up and down. He was very drunk, and Rafael, to his credit, did his best to ignore him.

Charlie laughed insanely, then followed Rafael, who was pulling a baggage cart loaded with boxes, into the elevator.

“What floor, sir?”

“Oh.” Charlie glanced down at the small envelope with his key card. “I don’t know, I can’t read this.” He held it out for Rafael.

“Room 1624.”

“Is that a good room?”

Rafael eagerly nodded. “Yes,” he said. He had a thick Spanish accent.

“They’d be better if they had prostitutes in them,” he said.

“Yes.” Rafael pressed the button and the elevator began to move upward. Charlie stared at Rafael, who stared straight ahead at the door.

“Hey,” Charlie said, “what time is it?”

Rafael glanced at his watch. “It is one o’clock, sir, yes.”

“Jesus, one o’clock. Jesus. I’ve been drinking in the bar downstairs for almost three hours. Just like they do on
Mad Men
, I guess, the TV show. They’re always drinking and screwing on that show. It’s about advertising. Do you ever watch that? I watch it when I travel sometimes.”

Rafael shook his head, then went back to memorizing the door.

“Drinking for three hours,” Charlie said. “I must be shit-faced.” He shook his head, stared at his shoes, then squinted at Rafael. “Hey,” he said. “I probably should clarify something here. I don’t really want a hooker. I don’t know why I just said that. I’m loaded, that’s why. That’s something they would do on
Mad Men.
I wish I worked back then. All we do now is drink Starbucks and stare at our BlackBerrys. You know, I’ve never been with a hooker in my life. Ever.”

Rafael said nothing.

“I think you’d have to be crazy to get a hooker nowadays. Disease and everything.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“I can’t understand people who get hookers. I couldn’t enjoy it. I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I never would. I don’t know how that would work. Do you pay them before, after? Do they give you change? I’ve never been unfaithful to my wife. Have you ever been unfaithful to your wife?”

“I’m no married, sir.”

“Really? Not once? Well, good for you. Good for you. I thought everyone was married.”

Charlie studied his own distorted reflection in the doors. He looked short and fat; a misshapen dwarf. “Could you do me a favor?” he asked. “Could you not tell anyone I asked you that? About the prostitute, I mean? I don’t know why I said that. I just got fired, that’s probably why I said that. From my job. Fired.” He waved a hand. “You know, completely.”

“Are you all right, sir?”

Charlie had started to cry. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“I’m okay. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just, you know, it was unexpected and I haven’t told my wife yet or anyone.”

The elevator stopped on the sixteenth floor. He sniffled. “Hey, instead of a hooker, can you send up a humidifier?”

“What. Sir? A hum…”

“Humidifier. Yeah, you know, for the air. Like a vaporizer. I need one to help me breathe. That’s got to be easier to find than a hooker.”

Rafael looked worried. “I don’t know if we have humidors, sir.”

“No humidifier? Jesus. Marriott always has them. Well, how about some toothpaste and a toothbrush? I can’t sleep unless I brush my teeth. I can’t sleep with dirty teeth. I lie awake all night thinking about them, just sitting there, decaying.”

“Yes,” Rafael said.

“Really? Are you the same way? My wife thinks I’m compulsive. She thinks I’m obsessive-compulsive. She thinks I’m a lot of things. She doesn’t like me anymore. Can you believe that? Even though I’ve never been unfaithful. She used to love me, though, before I became, you know”—he waved a hand in front of himself—“like this. She thinks I’ve changed, thinks I’m crazy. I don’t think I’ve changed. Well, maybe I have.” He shook his head. “I probably have.”

Rafael studied Charlie with dark, sad eyes. He was holding the doors to the elevator open with one hand and clutching the side of the baggage cart with another.

“Are you sure you don’t have a humidifier?” Charlie asked. “I’ll pay extra for it. This is a big hotel.”

“I will check, sir, but it is late.”

“Well, thanks.” Charlie stepped out of the elevator and into the hall. “What’s your name again?” he asked, even though Rafael was wearing a large gold name tag.

“Rafael.”

“I’m Charlie Baker.” Charlie offered his hand, but the doors were shutting.

“Good night, Rafael,” he shouted. “I mean it, good night!”

It took him a while to locate his room. He kept walking in circles, squinting at doors and announcing room numbers aloud: 1645, 1647, 1649. When he found 1624, he fumbled with the key card for such a long time that he considered lying on the floor and sleeping outside his door. Once he finally made it inside, he took a hot shower, put on a white terry-cloth hotel bathrobe, and sat on the bed and watched TV. He must have briefly dozed off, because the next thing he knew there was a knock on the door. He shuffled across the room, opened it, and found Rafael ceremoniously holding a silver tray with a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, a can of shaving cream, and a shiny stainless steel pot of coffee.

“I’m sorry, I no find a humidor. They are all in use,” he said. Then he said, “May I, please?”

Charlie looked at him, not sure, at first, who he was. “Oh, sure, sure,” he finally said. He stepped aside to let him pass. Rafael walked briskly across the room and placed the tray on a table by the window. He was an older man with a graying mustache and had a hushed dignity about him that Charlie instinctively respected and appreciated.

“Hold on. Let me get my wallet.” Charlie headed over to the chair where he had tossed his pants.

“No, sir. It is fine, sir.” Rafael started toward the door.

“No, wait.” Charlie retrieved his wallet and fumbled for some cash. He wanted to give him a big tip. Rafael, he realized, was the best friend he had ever had.

“Here you go.” He held out three twenties.

“Oh, no, sir, too much.”

“Please, please.” Charlie thrust the bills closer to him. “Money means nothing to me. It means nothing. It can’t buy you love, can it? No, not love. Here.” He pinned the money against Rafael’s chest with his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” Rafael said. He took the money and folded up the bills. Then he considered Charlie with his deep-set eyes before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a business card and handing it to him.

“It’s the number. For a service,” he said. “The woman escort.” He looked embarrassed.

Charlie accepted the card, confused. “What? Oh, no, no, I don’t want it. Thanks, though. I said I was kidding about that.” Charlie handed the card back to him. “I’ll just watch a porno movie, maybe.”

Rafael nodded and put the card back into his pocket. Charlie gazed at him through blurry eyes. “You want some coffee?” he asked. He walked over to the table.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Want to shave?” Charlie held up the can of shaving cream and read the label. “It’s extra foamy.”

“No, thank you.” Rafael appeared to be very uncomfortable. He glanced down at the folded-up bills, then held the money back out to Charlie. “You keep. You keep the money.” When he said this, Charlie started to cry a little.

“No, no, no. Please, you keep it, though that’s very nice of you,” Charlie said. He quickly wiped away a tear. “See, that’s the difference between people like me and people like you, Rafael. See, I would never do something nice like that, never. I’m not a nice person. I’m only nice to clients. Everyone hated me at the agency. Except maybe Georgia. I don’t know why. I wasn’t that great to her either.” Charlie collected himself and cleared his throat. “Listen, I don’t need the money. I made four hundred and twenty-five thousand last year. I didn’t get a bonus, though. Not even a token. Besides, I didn’t really get fired. I quit my job to pursue other interests. I have lots of other interests. I brush my teeth, I shave. I’ll probably just do that full-time now.”

Poor Rafael was speechless.

“I’m bottoming out right now. I’ll be hitting the bottom soon. After I do that, I’ll be okay. Can I ask you a question, Rafael?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever bottomed out?”

Rafael looked down at the floor. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“Well, I’m about to do it now. Any minute. It looks like I’m standing here, but I’m actually falling.”

Rafael swallowed and nodded. He slowly folded the bills up again and put them in his back pocket. “I am sorry, sir,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it. No biggie. I was in advertising. Did you ever hear of the Bagel Man commercials? Ever see them?”

Rafael just stared at him.

“They were very popular a while ago. I made them at another shop. The place I should have stayed. I never should have left that place. Never. My wife told me not to quit that job. I should have listened to her. She has excellent intuition. She wanted me, us, to go to counseling. Marriage counseling. She blames my career. She hates it. She’s very down-to-earth. I met her when she was nineteen. Man, you should have seen what she looked like back then.” Charlie shook his head in wonder. “Legs up to here. She’s forty-eight and she still looks pretty good. Hasn’t even gone gray yet. Everyone thinks she dyes her hair, but she doesn’t. It’s still black. It’s that weird Irish thing. We never talk much anymore. I’m always gone. When she sees me, she just attacks me now anyway, so what’s the point in talking to her, right, I mean, what’s the point, right? I mean, am I right? I just try to avoid her. Except now I can’t. I got nowhere to go. I got to face her now, maybe make things better.”

Rafael nodded.

Charlie shook his head again. The room was starting to spin. “It’s good I can talk about this with someone, I need to talk. Can I tell you something else?”

“
Sí.
Yes.”

“I never told anyone this before, so can you keep this quiet? It’s a secret, a very big secret, so I’m counting on you to be discreet, you know, secretive.”

Rafael was expressionless.

“I have low sperm count.”

“
Por qué?
What?”

Charlie clutched his groin and spoke loudly. “The sperm. Nada count. For making the babies,
los niños
.” He clutched his groin again.

Rafael looked at Charlie, confused. Then he said, “Oh,
sí
,
sí
,” and looked at the floor.

“Yeah, I know. We didn’t think we could have kids. Kyle is a miracle. Low sperm count. You can’t tell by looking at me, but I do. I mean, I look normal. Even when I’m naked, I look fine. Donna wanted kids, more kids. We should have adopted. That would have made her happy, kept her busy. She wanted to adopt, but I didn’t.”

Rafael now looked at the floor.

Charlie made his way over to the bed and sat down. “Anyway,” he said.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Fine. I’m fine. I just have low sperm count.”

Rafael bowed and made his way to the door.

“Hey, wait, before you leave, can I ask you something? How many hours do you work a week? Can I ask you that?”

“Forty hours, sir. I work forty hours.”

“Forty hours. See, I work about, I don’t know, eighty hours a week. I’m nuts. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t think I even really like my job anymore, but that’s all I can do. That’s not normal, is it? I mean, there’s something wrong there, something’s out of whack, but I can’t stop. I can’t. I didn’t use to be this way, but I turned into this way.”

Rafael just stared at the floor.

“Hell, I’m not making any sense.” Charlie stood and approached Rafael. “Go home, get out of here. Listening to a loser like me. No job. Go on. Here.” He held out another twenty. Rafael slowly reached for it and took the bill.

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, thank
you.
”

“God bless you, sir.”

“No, God bless
you
.”

After Rafael left, he brushed his teeth and, since he had shaving cream, shaved. It was about three in the morning, when he usually got up and was ready to start his day.

He got back into the bed, turned up the TV volume, and started a game with the remote. He let one person say something, and quickly changed the channel before another person could respond. He did this for some time and was getting good at it, when he suddenly grew bored and settled on a movie about a door to door salesman who had mild cerebral palsy and very large ears. The salesman limped from door to door selling household products. His customers loved him because, despite his challenges, he was very upbeat.

He watched the movie with great interest, believing it was on for a reason. He was destined to see this movie—based on a true story—about perseverance, determination, gigantic ears. Here was a man who could barely walk and talk, and look how he made out. He was loved and admired; they made a movie about him! Charlie thought about this and felt the faint electrical stirrings of hope and inspiration cruise through his body.