Fiona Maazel - Woke Up Lonely

Jim went off with Kay, which left Olgo alone with Lynne.

“Well then,” he said. “Nice carnival. Have you ever been here before? This is my first time.”

“Of course,” she said. “I have a daughter,” and she retrieved from her purse a dusting cloth, which she passed across the face of her personal digital assistant. Olgo took this as a good sign. She was going to show him pictures of her daughter. In the literature of negotiating theory, this move harked back to the now-famous and seminal gesture of solicitude in which Jimmy Carter personalized photos for Begin’s eight grandkids at Camp David. Meirav, Michal, Avital, Naama, Avina, Avinadav, Jonathan, Ayellet. Whole thing might have collapsed if he hadn’t done that. What a winner.

Olgo waited as she fussed with the device, except when she was done, she just put it away.

“So,” she said, and nearly yawned. “Jim tells me you work for the Department of the Interior.”

She took three steps for his every one; he had trouble keeping pace. How odd that Jim mentioned him.

“It’s a new appointment for me, but I’m working a few of the Indian land claims. Interesting stuff.”

“Really? Jim made it sound dull as bones.”

Ah, so he mentioned it for the purpose of trashing the appointment. Typical Jim.

“Not all of us get to big-shot around the Defense Department, that is true. But it’s still fascinating work. We’re keeping things together.”

“Together,” Lynne said. “You’re sixty?”

He nodded. “Just the other day, in fact.”

“I see. Happy birthday, Olgo Panjabi.”

“You see what?”

“Nothing. Just — nothing.”

“What?”

“Oh, just that it must be hard, getting to your age and knowing you never quite made it past the first rung. That probably they’ll force you to retire with no fanfare. I guess that’s just the way, though. I mean, what does any federal employee do with his time? Wander around the building looking for someone to talk to? Fight with his wife? Read the Indian Reorganization Act and prod it for holes?”

“Are you always this rude?” he said. “Because I think it’d take some real effort always to be this rude.”

He looked away and tried to compose himself. She had, after all, struck a nerve. Ever since he was a young man, he’d felt like he was hurtling through life without a plan. Other people had talent; what did he have? Ambition. To be great, to be famous, to hallow the immigrant story of his father’s life. Problem was, the pressure of having to succeed had left him without anything he wanted to succeed at. His parents thought he was just dreamy and clung to the idea that their boy was a work in progress whose afflatus would yield something great in time. It never had, though maybe his time was now. The Indian land claims were a mess, but there was real opportunity in this strife to abate solipsism and ill will.

“Maybe we should just join the others,” he said.

“Not yet. I think your wife and Jim have a lot to talk about.”

“I doubt that,” he said.

“No, really. The Helix brings people together. Which should interest you, no? Because of your work?”

“Right, the Helix. My wife’s not a member. Since when is Jim?”

She laughed. “He’s not. No chance of that. And yet just look at them go.”

He watched them by the water fountain. Kay and Jim were, it was true, talking animatedly.

“I gather your wife’s found a new passion.”

He turned Lynne’s way but was stopped by the hatred that seemed to cement in his blood; he suddenly hated this woman beyond reason.

He looked again at his wife. When was the last she had spoken to him with such presence? Weeks? Years? He could probably trawl their history together and come up short.

They would be married for thirty-five years next month. The first thing he’d noticed about her when they started dating was the ferocity of her independence. He had wanted to open doors; she refused. He’d try to walk nearest to the road; she’d balk. She did not want to be taken care of. And yet she’d flirted with him desperately. So forget what she said; she needed him. Or someone. Her mother had left her family without warning — what does that do to a girl? He had an idea. And the idea saved his life. A girl whose mother splits looks for a man whose best accomplishment is loving her.

Lynne said, “Thirty-five years is a long time, Olgo. Way to keep the love alive.”

He stopped their progress to the booth. These barbs Lynne was tossing his way — enough! “Do you have something to say to me?” he said. “I can’t for the life of me understand what your problem is, but I’m willing to have a go at solving it. I don’t know what Jim told you about us, but the way you’re acting, my guess is that it was pretty bad.”

“On the contrary, Jim said you were all very nice. Kind and decent people.”

His eyes popped. He didn’t know how to handle this woman. If he’d met her at the negotiating table, he’d have wept.

Luckily, Kay returned with Jim in tow.

“Nice chat?” Olgo said.

“Very. Look, the line for the pedestal joust is the shortest it’s been all day.”

“You want to do that?”

“What, are you too old for the joust? Come on, Gramps,” and Kay took his sleeve, pulling him through the crowd. The arena was inflated — like a giant kiddie pool — and home to sponge blocks on which the players tried to maintain balance while fighting. He thought she just wanted to squirrel him away for debriefing post-Jim. But no, she actually wanted to joust. They got in line.

“So what happened?” he said.

“We didn’t really talk about the divorce.”

“Let me guess: The Helix? Thurlow Dan? Kay, am I missing out on something here? I feel like I’m being left out. ”

Kay seemed about to tell him what was on her mind, but then reared as if the wind had blown her back from the edge and she’d never come that close again.

“We’re up,” she said.

A student gave him the required helmet, and when he couldn’t fit it over his head, the student yelled to a classmate behind the arena, “Get the stretch machine, we got a big one.”

“This is humiliating,” Olgo said. “I don’t want to do this. Why is my head so much bigger than yours? Than anyone here’s?”

“Ego,” she said.

He flushed. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something?”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Here, watch. Jim and I will have a go.” She gave him her purse to hold. He was tempted to upturn its contents and discover a clue — a report from the lab: prognosis dire; an arrest warrant; IRS audit — anything to explain this hostility.

Kay and Jim mounted the pedestals. They wore hockey gloves and visors. Kay held her jousting pole like a spear, like she might just hurl it at Jim and hope for the best. Jim stood with pole upright. He was waiting for her to make the first move. She squared the pole and swiped at his bread box.

“What’s this?” Erin said. She had Tennessee in hand.

“I have no idea,” Olgo said. “But, sweetheart?”—and here he took a deep breath. “Have you noticed anything different about your mother? Anything at all?”

He did not look at Erin as he asked. He was almost trembling. You did not invite your child into the travails of your marriage.

“She’s dyeing her hair. I noticed that first thing.”

Olgo looked in Kay’s direction, but she was, of course, wearing a helmet.

“A new color?” he said.

Erin cocked her head. “Maybe it’s you we should be worried about. No, not a new color. Just to strip the gray.”

The joust was over. Neither fighter had lost touch with the pedestal, which left a panel of three kids to decide the bout based on number of swats landed and which adult they liked best.