Burger Wuss (19 page)

Rick and I looked at Jenn. Rick rolled his eyes. It was pretty funny. We all had to laugh.

After that, some executives scolded me. They told me I was fired. Turner was led past me. He hissed that he knew where I lived. I went inside with some men in suits. I signed some papers. The executives sat on two corners of a table and explained to me, one after the other, that I would not return to the premises, and that my final paycheck would be sent in the mail.

They gave me a form in triplicate. They said, “Read this and sign.”

I stared at the page. They stood apart from me and whispered. I tried to read my paper. I couldn’t read it. I felt dazed. I lifted up my hand. A lot of the skin was
scraped off. I looked back at the page. One of the men was whispering to the other, “Can you tell me what the hell kind of manager runs a place like this?”

“I agree, Dave. This is unacceptable.”

“I found the manager’s copy of the ad script.” The guy took a folded piece of paper out of his suit pocket. Unfolding it, he said, “It’s covered with these . . . with this . . . this gross . . .” He scratched at the paper with his fingertips, speechless.

“Writing?” the other one suggested.

“This gross writing. All over it. It’s like it was written by some kind of . . .”

“Some kind of animal.”

“Yes. But what kind of animal would write this? You know? Does the manager find this funny?”

“Get him in here. Mike or whatever his name is. Tell him —”

“I’m ready,” I called. They stopped whispering and both turned to look at me.

They came and took my papers. They didn’t thank me for signing.

Then security guards led me to my parents’ car. They watched while I opened the door. Jenn had cleaned the blood off my face. I wanted to get out of there. My nose and lips were huge. I wanted to clear my head.

I was free. No more revenge. No more O’Dermott’s. I rolled up the windows, feeling good about myself. The hollering between Turner and the BQ crew got quieter as the glass slid up. I could hardly hear their threats anymore — Turner saying he was going to find out where
they lived, Kid saying he already knew where Turner lived, Fletcher saying he didn’t know where anybody lived and they should all just break bottles and settle it right there. I did a four-point turn and left the parking lot.

I drove to the woods, and got out to go for a walk. I locked the doors, and set off up the hill. Insects swarmed in the light. I felt good about myself for the first time in months. Completely good. I’d left the smell of grease behind me forever. I headed along the path, limping toward the sunlight and trees.

By the river, redwing blackbirds were darting through the reeds. I felt a real lightness through all my body. It was not just the blood loss. I was through. Through with all of it.

The forest seemed full of beauty that day. It smelled as fresh and clean as laundry detergent. The sun shone down on pines and oaks. Hubcaps full of bullet-holes were hung on trees like artwork. Cicadas buzzed in the leaves. Their voices rose and fell. Vines and creepers were growing up the “For Sale” signs on the houses across the river.

I sat and thought about my future.
So much for Diana,
I thought.
I really was an idiot.

And later, as the sun picked out the yellow industrial foam on the riverbanks and made it shine like some froth of gold, I told myself,
After all, there are other fish in the sea.

A
bout six months later, during Christmas break, I was loafing in Billingston’s new Starbucks. I was waiting for Rick. We were going to talk about the latest girl who’d told me she wanted to just be friends. Rick had broken up with Jenn about two weeks after the O’Dermott’s incident. They had done it and then decided they never wanted to speak again. It was something about whether to rent
Moonstruck
or
Bordello of Blood.

I was sitting there watching the door when I saw a businessman come in. He ordered four bottles of water. He popped one of them open and began sucking on it. At first I didn’t recognize him. Then I was shocked. “Shunt?” I said.

He had short hair that was parted carefully on the side. He was wearing a nice sports jacket. His pants were pleated.

“Anthony! What’s up?” he said. He came over to my table. He gave me a firm handshake and smiled.

“Shunt,” I said. “What happened?”

He looked down at himself. “What do you mean? I turned my life around,” he said. “I got my GED and enrolled in a business program. I’m on the road to success.”

“What road is that? Shunt, what have you done?”

“Burger U.,” he said. “O’Dermott’s management training program. I live in New Jersey now. Nice little apartment. Very comfortable.”

I stood up. I couldn’t sit any longer. “Good God!” I demanded, “Where did they put the implant?”

“Calm down, booj-boy. I’m an infiltrator. My Mr. Normal sports jacket has an orange and purple lining.”

“Thank God,” I said, and slumped back into my chair.

“I’m going to give you my card,” said Shunt. “I want you for the Resistance.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Going to stop at my folks’.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Home for the holidays.”

“Yeah. Just long enough to piss ‘Merry X-mas’ in the snow on the front lawn. Hence the four waters. I’m out of here.”

He handed me a card. He waved and said, “Good to see you!” He raised two fingers, the pinkie and the pointer, as if he were about to make the “rave on” sign. Instead, he put them next to his head like a phone and jiggled them.

“Give me a ring sometime,” he said, heading out the door. And just before it closed pneumatically: “We’ll do lunch.”