Angry Buddhist (9781609458867) (15 page)

“Uncle Jimmy, I
have
to be here, but you?” Jimmy looks to his left where he sees Brittany with her hands on the back of a barstool. Jimmy tells her he's introducing her father to the gathering. “You couldn't dodge that assignment?” Jimmy assures her he could not. She asks him if he can believe this bullshit, indicating with a sweep of her arm the hotel, the event they are both about to attend, and a father/daughter pair that is walking past them toward the ballroom. “Maybe I'll unravel this cute bow on my butt and hang myself with it from one of the chandeliers,” she remarks. “But that would imply that I cared about this crap, which I don't.”

An unfamiliar feeling forms in Jimmy's chest and it rises to his throat and fills his cheeks before leaking out: laughter. He hasn't laughed in a while. Brittany smiles when she sees the effect she's having. “Why would anyone even want to be in Congress, much less go to some Purity Ball where they have to beg all these churchy people for their votes?”

“You got me there,” Jimmy says, genuinely stumped. He's enjoying the conversation, though, won't mind if Brittany keeps talking. The kid's a pistol. Jimmy has no idea where it comes from, both of her parents nearly military in their embrace of conformity.

“I kind of wish the terrorists would just blow this place to smithereens but I'd probably feel bad about it if they did. I'm a softie, I guess.”

“Just like me,” Jimmy says.

“Hey, why don't we flee the premises, arm ourselves then come back and fight the power? Like revolutionaries. Shoot up the Purity Ball.”

“You don't like things the way they are?”

“I should vote?”

“You could. When you turn eighteen. You're not eighteen yet, are you?”

“Next year. And I was kidding about going all Columbine in there.”

“I know.” Jimmy can't figure his niece out. Is she engaged? Disengaged? Does anything have meaning for her or is she one of those kids who float above everything, detached and superior? Is her ironic exterior just a rough blanket she uses to conceal a deeply romantic soul or is she truly someone who doesn't give any kind of a shit? Before he reaches a conclusion, Brit­tany opens her purse and produces a joint. “Want to blaze?” When Jimmy does nothing but widen his eyes, she says “Take it easy, Officer, I have medical card.”

“Really?”

“Tennis elbow. Don't tell my parents, okay?”

Something over Jimmy's shoulder catches Brittany's eye and she quickly stuffs the joint back in the purse. Jimmy follows her nervous glance and sees Maxon striding toward them. He announces in a peevish voice that the Purity Ball is about to kick off and Randall would appreciate it if they joined the festivities.

It is genuinely difficult to generate a party hearty environment when the goal of the evening is to stop intercourse from occurring among people who are at the age where their sexuality is in the jungle cat phase. Thus the ballroom hums with nervous chatter. Doting fathers and abashed daughters ranging from pre-school to college age stand in embarrassed clumps as a string quartet plays a mixture of hymns and Carpenters' songs. The fathers are as tightly wound as a tuxedoed group of middle aged white men can be, which is to say rigor mortis would loosen them up. The daughters, all wearing ball gowns in different pastel hues, are more relaxed by virtue of their youth but their assigned roles for the evening serve as an effective cap on the teenaged excitement level. Most didn't want to come but there is solidarity to be had among their fellow prisoners.

Randall stands in a group of cheerfully chatting fathers, all of whom seem pleased to be in his presence. He continues to marvel at the personal response he inspires in his constituents. The antipathy most people profess toward politicians does not seem to extend to him. A tall investment counselor with a trim mustache says, “My daughter didn't want to come, but I told her God knows us by our actions.” At this two of the other fathers chime in, “Amen.” A burly systems analyst with a buzz cut and a thick face says, “We need to set the example.” Everyone present nods. Randall has politely waited for all the men in the group to say something. This allows him to maintain the illusion that he actually listens. The buzz cut man was the last to speak. That is Randall's cue.

“Godlessness must be eradicated,” Randall says, pausing for effect. “Just not at the Indian casinos because that would hurt the economy.” Everyone hesitates a moment, then laughs. It isn't that the joke is particularly amusing, since it is not. But
someone
has the temerity to introduce a spark of levity on such an august occasion, this gathering of the clan. These men, these bastions of rectitude, have been silently hoping Randall would take control of the conversation and relieve them of having to say something they haven't already heard countless times. They would all prefer discussing sports or business, but the weightiness of the evening's theme has made them want to elevate the discourse.

That Randall Duke! What ease and humor! What command! The earnest, tuxedo-clad fathers have been slightly intimidated by the seriousness of the event and he has lightened things with a gag. No wonder this man keeps getting elected to office. Their relief is conspicuous and Randall can feel it. “These Purity Balls are a good way to start but we each need to pledge to take God into the world.” More nodding at this advice. “Mammon is a tempter, always lurking, ready to seduce us with his smooth talk. If we give in, we can only expect the same from our daughters. We have to tell them they're beautiful, tell them we love them because if we don't then they're going to look to hear it from some hip-hopping, pants-around-his-ankles kid in a backwards baseball cap.” A few of the girls giggle in recognition, Randall having artfully described several current boyfriends; the others all know a version of the predatory male invoked by the host. They are met with what's-so-funny-about-that? stares from their escorts. Randall spots Brittany with Maxon, hovering at the edge of the group. “Isn't that right, sweetie?” Maxon shoves the girl forward and she moves to her father's side where Randall puts his arm over her shoulder. “Everyone, this is my daughter, Brittany.” Her anxious smile only conveys a fraction of the discomfort she feels at this moment.

 

When Randall had asked if he wanted to sit at his table as an honored guest Jimmy had demurred, telling his brother if it was all right with him he would just as soon deliver his introductory remarks then go home. He would have liked to talk more with Brittany but they can't have an honest conversation with Randall around. He feels for that girl, worries about how she's going to turn out. Now he scans the room from a doorway to the side of the podium. He doesn't care if Randall would prefer that he wear the uniform. As far as Jimmy's concerned, it's enough that he's wearing a tie.

There are a hundred and sixty-three guests, the odd number caused by a pair of thin, blonde twins in matching white chiffon, and they sit at sixteen round tables, father, daughter, father, daughter, circles of imagined, yearned for—
please God, tell me she didn't have sex with that imbecile in the Lakers jersey and the unlaced sneakers
—pristine goodness. They eat salad, and chicken, and after: a desert of apple pie, another masterful Maxon Brae touch.

Jimmy takes in the daughters, lovely in the glowing light of the ballroom, the severe cross at the head of the room, and the loud voices of the fathers as they struggle to keep conversations going. He thinks of his own father, the Reverend Donnie Duke. What would he have made of Randall hosting this event?

“Jimmy Duke is an Investigator for the Riverside County District Attorney.” Too distracted by his own thoughts a moment earlier to notice that Maxon was at the podium, tentacles of discomfort now coil around Jimmy's stomach as he prepares to be introduced. “Please give a warm round of applause to the brother of the Congressman.”

The crowd obeys and with a nod of his head Maxon indicates that it's showtime. Jimmy is thinking of his father as he steps to the lectern at the front of the room, how his father would have been proud of him for introducing his older brother. He pushes aside the thought that his father never knew this iteration of Randall and focuses on the task at hand.

“Good evening, folks. My name is Jimmy Duke,” he says, then stops, caught by surprise as another smattering of applause breaks out. His career in law enforcement confers instant authority upon him, particularly with this crowd. When the applause subsides, he continues, getting comfortable, “My brother Randall is all about family. I don't know if you people know this, but our brother Dale has had some trouble with the law. That can be kind of hard to handle if you're in law enforcement.” Jimmy pauses for the appreciative chuckles from the fathers. He knows the daughters are all tuning him out except his niece who gives him a little wave. And it's not an innocent wave either. There's something cagey about it, like she has a secret she wants to share but doesn't dare, at least not with her father around. He returns it with a smile and a nod. When the amused murmur passes, he continues, “Well, it can be real tough if you're in public office. But my brother Randall always puts family first. From his beautiful wife Kendra, to his daughter Brittany, to our brother Dale, and to me, Randall is a guy who comes through for his family. And he looks at his constituents as family, too. It's a pleasure to introduce your Congressman, my big brother, please give a round of applause to your member of the United States House of Representatives Randall Duke.”

Jimmy steps away from the microphone and leads the clapping, relieved to have discharged his obligation. It worries him on some level that he can sling it so comfortably, but he knows it's not a bad skill to have at the ready.

With a grin and a wave Randall rises from his seat and walks to the lectern where he shakes hands with Jimmy. “I'd wish you'd worn the uniform,” Randall says, the smile never flagging. Jimmy shakes his head and makes for the parking lot.

“My brother Jimmy Duke, everyone,” Randall leads the cheers for Jimmy who waves at the crowd without looking at them before vanishing through a side door.

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” he says to the bright faces. “Right now, I'd like all the daughters to stand up and be counted.” Randall waits while, amid uneasy titters and scraping chairs, the virgins—and some for whom that ship has sailed—stand as one giant rebuke to the dominant culture. They fidget in their dresses, smiling nervously. “You girls are beautiful tonight, every last one of you. And your dads are so proud. I hope they tell you that at home. Dads, do you tell your daughters that they're beautiful?” Muffled waves of assent are offered. The men regard each other and smile, some a little guiltily. Randall continues: “I'm going to ask you to take a pledge tonight, and when you take it, please remember that you are not just making it to yourselves, but you're making it in the name of the Lord.” He waits a moment for this to sink in. After a pause long enough to make sure those present absorb the import of what is about to occur, he raises his right hand and tells them to do the same. When all the girls have their right hands in the air Randall smiles and says, “I pledge to live a life of abstinence . . . repeat after me, please. I pledge . . . ” The girls catch on and Randall continues, “I pledge to lead a life free of sin.” They repeat the words. “And I pledge to walk in the path of the Lord Jesus Christ who will keep me pure until the day I marry.” The young voices, some tentative and unsure, others ringing like church bells, intermingle and ascend in a chorus of renunciation (a considerable amount of it feigned), the fathers swell with pride shot through with a dash of confusion—these are not men wholly without sin both venial and mortal—and Randall Duke beams because votes are swimming into his net like he is St. James and the Purity Dads are campaign-check-writing fish. His coffers will get a sweet little bump the next day and he doesn't even have to ask for it.

Randall tells the girls to be seated and asks the fathers to stand. When the men are on their feet Randall informs them, “The world can be a scary place. There are temptations of the mind and of the flesh. Tonight I want you to redouble your efforts to be pure in your own hearts. We teach by example and there is no stronger example than our own behavior. Our daughters look to us for this. We are their rocks. The moms are important, too, but lets face it, we're the dads, right? We're the dads! Say it!”

“We're the dads!” arises the cry from the flock, low at first. The energy in the room is pent-up and Randall is offering release. He understands the power of the voice to free the soul and the man is throwing open the doors.

“Say it again!”

Louder: “WE'RE THE DADS!”

Some in the pink, yellow and blue sea of daughters try not to giggle, and their stern fathers attempt to ignore the suppressed merriment. Other girls watch with the intensity of St. Teresa of Avila, their expressions dialing into masks of devotion.

While the horde is being distracted by the exhortations of her father, Brittany has taken this opportunity to put her cell phone inside her dress where she is using it to take pictures of her vagina.

“One more time!”

Like a blast, horns in a parade, listen up You Endangered Girls: “WE'RE THE DADS!”

“That's right. We are the dads, and our precious daughters are confronted with a dark and dangerous world. They need us to shine a light, they need us to be a beacon, they need us to be a rock for them.” If the litany of mixed metaphors bothers anyone present, they do not let it affect their enthusiasm for what Randall is saying. The audience is rapt. “The flames of hellfire are burning out there every day. They're burning in the cities, they're burning in the suburbs and they're burning right here in the desert. Our beautiful young daughters are confronted with levels of depravity we can hardly imagine on television, at the movies, and on the Internet. They are calling out for our help. Our daughters need us and it is our moral obligation to protect them.” Randall pauses waiting for the results of his words to sink in. “Now if you would please turn your attention to the cross.”