Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

When I discovered that Ms Blair Bentley was twenty-six - and a leggy cropped blonde with perfect skin and a cliff of capped white teeth (not to mention a local news anchor on the leading NBC-affiliate station in DC, about to be transferred to big-time New York) - my bitterness quadrupled. Matt had found himself a trophy wife.

But, of course, the real bitterness I felt was toward myself. I had blown it. I had done everything I vowed never to do - from falling for a married man, to obeying the imperatives of my goddamn biological clock. We all talk about 'building a life' - finding the fulfilling career, the fulfilling relationship, the fulfilling balance between the professional and the personal. Glossy magazines are full of spurious strategies for constructing this perfectly synchronized, made-to-measure existence. But the fact is, when it comes to the big stuff (the man who breaks your heart, the man with whom you end up having children), you're just a hostage to fortune like the next jerk. Say I'd never joined Harding, Tyrell and Barney? Say I hadn't agreed to that after-work drink with Peter? Say I'd never changed agencies, and Matt had never walked into our office? A chance meeting here, a hasty decision there... then one morning you wake up in early middle age, a divorced single parent. And you find yourself wondering: how the hell did I ever end up in this life?

The phone began to ring, jolting me out of my extended reverie. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly nine a.m. How had I managed to lose so much track of time?

'Is that you, Kate?'

The voice surprised me. It was my brother. It was the first time he'd phoned my home in years.

'Charlie?'

'Yeah, it's me'.

'You're up early'.

'Couldn't sleep. Uh, I just wanted to, uh... it was good seeing you, Kate'.

'I see'.

'And I don't want another seven years to go by...'

'As I said yesterday, that's up to you, Charlie'.

'I know, I know'.

He fell silent.

'Well', I said, 'you know my number. So call me, if you like. And if you don't like, I'll live. You broke off communication. If you want to get it started again, it's over to you. Fair enough?'

'Uh, yeah, sure'.

'Good'.

Another of his damn nervous silences.

'Well then... I'd better be going, Charlie. See you...'

He interrupted my goodbye by blurting out, 'Can you lend me five thousand dollars?'

'What?'

His voice became shaky. 'I'm, uh, real sorry... I know you probably hate me for asking, but... you know that I mentioned I was up for a job... sales rep for Pacific Floral Service. Biggest flower delivery company on the West Coast. Only thing I could find out here where they'd even consider a guy in his mid-fifties... that's how bad things are in the job market these days, if you're well into middle age'.

'Don't remind me. Isn't the job interview today?'

'It was supposed to be. But when I got back home last night, there was a message from someone at Pacific Floral's Human Resources department. Telling me they'd decided to fill the post internally, so the interview was off'.

'I'm sorry'.

'Not as sorry as me. Not as goddamn sorry as me, because... because... it wasn't even a managerial job... it was a fucking sales rep... it was...'

He broke off.

'Are you all right, Charlie?'

I could hear him take a deep steadying breath. 'No. I am not all right. Because if I don't find five thousand dollars by Friday, the bank is threatening to take my house'.

'Will the five grand solve the problem?'

'Not really... because I actually owe the bank another seven'.

'Jesus, Charlie'.

'I know, I know - but you start building up those kind of debts when you're out of work for six months. And, believe me, I've tried borrowing money everywhere. But there are already two mortgages on the house to begin with...'

'What does Holly say?'

'She... she doesn't realize how bad things are'.

'You mean, you haven't told her?'

'No... it's just... I just don't want to worry her'.

'Well, she's going to be a little worried when you're evicted from the house'.

'Don't say that word, evicted'.

'What are you going to do?'

'I don't know. What little savings we had... and some stock... it's all spent'.

Five thousand dollars. I knew that I had eight grand in a savings account... and that Mom had a money market account with around eleven-five, which was part of the estate I'd inherit once the will was probated. Five thousand dollars. That was serious money to me. It didn't even cover a term's tuition for Ethan at Allan-Stevenson. Or it was nearly three months' rent. I could do a lot with five thousand dollars.

'I know what you're thinking', Charlie said. 'After all these years, his first proper phone call to me is to bum money'.

'Yes, Charlie - that is exactly what I'm thinking. Just as I'm also thinking how badly you hurt Mom'.

'I was wrong'.

'Yes, Charlie. You were very wrong'.

'I'm sorry'. His voice was barely a whisper. 'I don't know what to say except, I'm sorry'.

'I don't forgive you, Charlie. I can't. I mean, I know she could be overbearing and just a little interfering. But you still cut her off'.

I could hear his throat contract, as if he was stifling a sob. 'You're right', he said.

'I don't care whether or not I'm right - it's a little late to be arguing about that anyway. What I want to know, Charlie, is why'.

'We never got along'.

This was, indeed, true - as one of my abiding memories of childhood was the endless arguments between my mother and brother. They could not agree on anything, and Mom had this habit of being endlessly meddlesome. But whereas I figured out a way of deflecting (or even ignoring) her encroaching tendencies, Charlie was constantly threatened by her intrusions. Especially as they underscored the fact that Charlie so desperately missed (and needed) his father. He was almost ten when Dad died - and the way he always spoke to me about him let it be known that he idolized him, and somehow blamed Mom for his early death.

'She never liked him', he once told me when I was just thirteen. 'And she made his life so miserable that he was away most of every week'.

'But Mom said he was away every week working'.

'Yeah - he was always out of town. It meant that he didn't have to be with her'.

Because Dad died when I was just eighteen months old, I was denied any memories (let alone knowledge) of him. So whenever Charlie spoke about our father, I hung on to every syllable... especially as Mom constantly skirted the subject of the late Jack Malone, as if it was either far too painful to deal with, or she just didn't want to talk about him. In turn, this meant that I bought Charlie's view on our parents' fractious marriage - and silently attributed its unhappiness to Mom and her meddlesome ways.

At the same time, however, I never understood why Charlie couldn't work out a strategy for dealing with her. God knows, I also fought with her constantly. I too found her maddening. But I would never have shut her out the way Charlie did. Then again, I did get the sense that Mom was a bit ambivalent about her only son. Of course she loved him. But I did wonder if she also silently resented him for being the reason why she ended up in an unhappy marriage with Jack Malone. Charlie, in turn, never got over Dad's death. Nor did he like being the only man in the house. As soon as he could, he fled - straight into the arms of a woman who was so controlling, so autocratic that Mom suddenly seemed libertarian by comparison.

'I know you never got along, Charlie', I said. 'And yeah - she had her pain-in-the-ass moments. But she didn't deserve the punishment you and Princess meted out'.

Long pause.

'No', he said. 'She didn't deserve it. What can I say, Kate? Except that I allowed myself to be wrongly influenced by...' He cut himself off, and lowered his voice. 'Put it this way: the argument was always presented in "It's either her or me" terms. And I was so weak, I bought it'.