Slide - Kyle Beachy [33]
“Tell me who tans at two A.M.”
Stuart's grin expanded. “The masses.”
Traffic grew thick as we approached the stadium, cars packed tight amid a flurry of red-shirted fans making their way en masse from the less expensive lots. Men and women in orange vests waved orange flags. Park here. This many dollars. Stuart turned into the parking area closest to Busch Stadium and handed the girl a Diamond Preferred parking ticket. Out of the car, we were absorbed into the crowd. Stuart shouldered his way through and nobody seemed to mind. A saxophonist played “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and peanut vendors shouted into the dank evening. I was happy to follow his lead, through the gates of our giant concrete stadium, down beer-soaked steps to the field-box level, all the way to the concession line.
“I want to discuss the answer to your problem.”
“There's really no need to rush,” I said. “Audrey has delayed her return, so the element of hurry is gone.”
Stuart appeared to consider this development. “Good. This will give us time for a second phase. Wherein you spend concentrated time around and learning from Edsel Denk.”
That beard dripping as the massive beast man emerged from the pool, the cocksucker returns to the diving board. The plunge and the emergence. A beard like the pelt of some forest mammal stuck to his chin. Displaced Appalachian woodsman.
“No thank you. Pretty confident I'm not up for phase two.”
“Right now I need you to trust me, Poot. Think about where you are in this process. Is it fair to say you're a wreck?”
We stepped forward as the line grew shorter. A father and son moved from the counter to the condiment table.
“You are a wreck. We both know it. The evidence is right in front of us. Everything you thought you believed about this girl is no longer believable. You may still love her. Or you may not. You may have never loved her to begin with. Unfortunately, you no longer have authority to say, because you're too entangled within the question. What you need to do is move outside yourself. Trust me when I say I appreciate the importance of this decision. Could possibly be the most important decision a man can make.”
A bald man behind the counter operated two taps at once.
“Which is why you're going to spend time with Edsel Denk.”
“Wait. No. Naive as it was, fine, naive and silly, but there was a definite period when I truly thought I was going to marry Meredith Flackman. She was my first love. Until that asshole came along and stole her, Stubes. Theft of a lover.”
“Consider it a social internship. Anthropology, if you want. I'm going to in fact order you to do so. Follow him around and observe. He has seen things you and I have not. Partake in his behavior, maybe. Say what you want about Edsel, call him misogynist and label him asshole, but his is the nature of man in the world. The qualities he embodies are those of manhood, swollen brawn and brute force. You likely won't like the experience, but it will definitely be good for you.”
We had reached the counter. I waited for Stuart to tell the woman what we'd be having. I sure as hell wasn't going to step forward and take charge of a single thing.
“Beers,” Stuart said. “Will be on you tonight.”
The cashier glared. “I'm gonna have to see some ID.”
seven
what a mysterious array of forms and sounds emerge from dark silent solitude. I stacked three cardboard boxes against the only window to block the streetlight, then sat and waited. Against the uniform blackness of deep attic corners I saw patches of darker darkness, amorphous and phantasmal but in the end still lacking the definition and presence of true specter. I had a place to spread out, a short line of boxes slid together to approximate some kind of mattress. I'd begun coming up here when sleep in my bed proved unfeasible, which I could now safely conclude was not the fault of the squirrels that had disappeared altogether. I lay across the boxes and let my sight be drawn into the attic's gloomiest recesses, drifting into and out of shallow sleep.