Ben Fountain - Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk

“He’s a pretty tough nut, I’ll grant you that. You get in a fight with Norm, you better be wearing a cup, but listen, bottom line? He wants this deal as much as we do. So we just keep him at the table for as long as it takes, when he gets tired enough he’ll come around.”

“Not if he runs out the clock on us. You heard him, he knows what we’re up against. We don’t have unlimited time here.”

“Well, I’ve always viewed your departure as a somewhat artificial deadline anyway. Signatures can be faxed. They can be e-mailed.”

“Not if we’re dead.”

Albert folds his arms and stares glumly at his shoes. A brief, startling vision comes to Billy of big old Albert standing in a rainy field somewhere, head down, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, weeping. It has never occurred to him that their producer might be capable of actual tears.

“How about this,” Dime offers, “how about if we hold a gun to his head?”

“Oh David, don’t even talk like that.”

“Hell yeah, vets on the edge, baby! Everybody’s got their breaking point.”

“He’s just kidding,” Billy tells Albert, looking to Dime to make sure.

“Everybody supports the troops, ” Dime woofs, “ support the troops, support the troops, hell yeah we’re so fucking PROUD of our troops, but when it comes to actual money? Like somebody might have to come out of pocket for the troops ? Then all the sudden we’re on everybody’s tight-ass budget. Talk is cheap, I got that, but gimme a break. Talk is cheap but money screams, this is our country, guys. And I fear for it. I think we should all fear for it.”

Albert blinks, unsure how seriously he should take that last part. “Dave, all I can tell you is the only way we’re going to get a deal is to keep talking to this guy. He made his offer, if you don’t like it we’ll make a counter and see what comes back, that’s how it works. But you keep your emotions out of it and focus on the deal, okay? That’s the only way you’re going to get some money for your guys.”

“I need to call them,” Dime says, pulling out his cell.

“So call. I gotta take a leak.”

As soon as Albert’s in the bathroom Billy moves to the other chair, so that he doesn’t have to listen to the movie producer pee. Dime calls Day, and at certain points in the conversation Billy can hear Day’s side as plainly as Dime’s. What the fuck? comes through quite clearly, in addition to fuck that, fuck that shit, and fuck that motherfucking shit . Dime asks Day to poll the rest of the squad, and their answers boom through like the bellowing of cows in a slaughter chute. Billy pulls out his own cell and clicks on. He’s missed calls from Kathryn and the unknown number, and there’s a text from Kathryn as well—

Sending car 4 u tx stadium

CALL HIM 4 meet.

JUST GET IN THE CAR.

Dime clicks off. “They said no.”

“I heard.”

Dime pockets the cell. “Your thoughts, Billy. What do you think we should do.”

Billy shuts his eyes and tries to have coherent thoughts about everything that has happened today. Into the still of his concentration sails the crash of a flushing toilet.

“He’s wrong.”

“Who’s wrong?”

Billy opens his eyes. “Norm. Remember what he said in there, he was like, you guys oughta take the deal because it’s all you’ve got, and something’s better than nothing? But I don’t think so. I think sometimes nothing is better than something. I mean, I’d rather have nothing than let this guy use me like his bitch. Plus”—Billy glances around and lowers his voice, as though the room in fact is bugged—“I just sort of hate the son of a bitch.”

For some reason this is suddenly hilarious to them. Albert emerges from the bathroom to find the two Bravos laughing like baboons.

“Sorry, guy,” Dime tells him, “but fitty-five hundred don’t cut it. And Bravo speaks as one on this.”

Albert pulls a poker face. “Okay, so what cuts it?”

“Hundred thousand up front, then we’re out of Norm’s hair. And he can keep all that wonderful equity for himself.”

“Guys, I think you’re going to have to bend a little bit. What if we — hang on.” His cell is buzzing. “Speak of the devil. Lemme just… Yes, Norm.”

Billy remains in the chair, Dime on the daybed. They listen.

“You’re kidding me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Can you even do that? On what grounds…” Albert laughs, but he’s not happy. “National what ? Are you serious? I’ve never heard of… Jesus, Norm, at least give us a chance. The least you could do is wait to hear what we come back with.”

“Five minutes?” He turns to the Bravos. “You guys know of a General Ruthven?” But before the soldiers can answer, he’s back to the phone.

“Norm, I really don’t think you have to do this. If you’d just…”

“Of course I know it’s not just about the money. Tell me about it, tell my guys. They put their lives on the line every…”

“All right. I guess so. I guess we’ll see.”

Albert clicks off and slips the cell into his blazer side pocket. He turns to the Bravos, and the way he looks down at them, it’s as if they’re in their coffins and he’s having a last look before the lid comes down.

“Whut,” Dime says.

Albert squints; he seems surprised to hear Dime speak. “It’s pretty incredible,” he says. “They’ve gotten your chain of command involved. Apparently Norm’s good buddies with the deputy-deputy secretary of defense or some such crap, he had that guy call your superiors at Fort Hood. He says he talked to a General Ruthven? And the general’s supposed to call here in a couple of minutes, to talk to you.” Albert shakes his head; his voice wavers. “I think they’re going to make you do the deal.” He looks at them. “Can they even do that?”

The Bravos know full well the Army does whatever it wants, and any rights they claim will be shunted into the catch-all category known as “collateral,” i.e., things to be administered after it’s too late. Mr. Jones comes to lead them back to the bunker, where the Bravos are greeted civilly, almost warmly. They’re offered refreshments. They’re shown to the same two seats. “The wheels came off,” Todd says, indicating the scoreboard, which shows 17–7 in favor of the Bears. “Interception and fumble, ten points in two minutes.”

F-bomb executive snorts. “We’re gonna send out a search party after the game, help Vinny find his ass.”

This raises a bitter laugh.

“Why the hell does George keep sticking Brandt in the slot? Like he thinks he’s gonna block?”

“I haven’t seen him throw a block since spring training.”

“Of ’01.”

More yuks. Norm sets his headset to the side and swings around to the Bravos. “Not our day,” he says with a weary smile.

“No sir,” Dime says stiffly.

“I hate to lose, hate it about as much as anything. My wife says I’m addicted to winning, and I guess it’s true, thirty-eight years she’s been trying to calm me down. But I can’t, I need that rush. I’d rather cut off my little finger than lose.”

“We figured back in June it was going to be a tough season,” Jim says. “With Emmit gone, Moose, Jay, they left some mighty big shoes to fill. When you lose your core like that…” He trails off when he realizes no one is listening.

“I expect you fellas are kind of cross with me right now,” Norm says, and by way of response Dime and Billy say nothing. Norm regards them a long moment; nods. He seems impressed by their wall of silence.

“I don’t blame you,” he goes on. “I know I’m being kind of heavy-handed here, but my instinct tells me to get it done. This is a movie that needs to be made, now, for all the reasons we talked about. And if it works out the way I think it’s going to, you fellas are set to do very well. Someday before too long I think you’ll be thanking me—”