Free The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel by Jim Kokoris

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.
    As the movie wore on, though, the sense of well-being faded and he began to feel wistful, then envious. He wanted mild cerebral palsy. He wanted gigantic ears. He wanted, needed, an obvious cross to bear. He wanted to be a refugee from a Third World nation, be a dwarf, have one leg shorter than the other, be the product of alcoholic parents, be an African-American woman. But he was white and male, came from a very stable household, and, migrating moles notwithstanding, was in good health. He had no excuse for his failure, no one to blame but himself.
    He turned off the TV and then the lights and lay in bed. He feared he might die there, alone in a hotel wrapped in a strange bathrobe. He felt the tears coming again, fought them back, cursed out loud. Then he reached over for the phone and called home. He needed to talk to Donna. If he could just hear her voice one more time, one more time. He didn’t want to be alone like this. He needed someone, and the someone he needed was his wife.
    She didn’t pick up, of course; it was three-thirty. Instead, he got their answering machine, and when he heard her recorded voice, he placed the phone over his heart and pressed it close before hanging up.
    He lay in bed like a child, scared and wondering in the dark. He took deep breaths and swallowed. He curled his hands into fists. He lay there all night, just like that, thinking, and when the morning slowly made its way into his room, dirty and gray, he said a small prayer, his lips moving silently in the thin light.
     
    Ned Meyers was a tall, slender man with a pale face and straight Julius Caesar bangs. His attire, cardigan sweater, woolen tie, well-worn corduroy pants, and Hush Puppies— Hush Puppies! —as well as his overly earnest face and sincere brown eyes, reminded Charlie of a high school guidance counselor. Because of all these things, mostly because he never liked his high school guidance counselor, but especially because he never trusted people with British accents, Charlie took an immediate disliking to him.
    “I respect what you’re saying, but I still think I should sue them,” Charlie said.
    “You have no grounds to sue anyone,” Ned said. “None whatsoever.”
    “How about age discrimination? How about that? I just turned fifty. They waited for me to turn fifty, then”—Charlie snapped his fingers—“bam, they move on me, they attack.”
    “They compiled quite a file on you, Charlie.” Ned opened a manila folder that