Satisfied”
JASON
“S TOP AT FRED MEYERS, SUSI, so
I can get clothes for tonight. I can’t wear these everywhere. Your rich friends
will think I’m a loser.”
“I’m going to wait in the car.”
The cashier and three young women in the store recognized
me, but this was Fremont, and everyone was nice about it. I signed for one of
the women who wanted my autograph—it was a receipt for a Fleet Foxes CD, so I’m
not sure what she will tell her kids twenty years from now.
When I joined Susi again, Shostakovich played on the car
radio for spring time cheer, and she didn’t have anything to say on the ride
back to her house, where she made yakisoba with tofu, snowpeas, and shiitake
mushrooms while I changed. Then she left me to eat my noodles alone while she
changed.
I went to the trouble of getting a tie when I was in Fred’s,
ripping black jeans and a black shirt off the hangers and sprinting for the
cashier, thinking I would look respectable enough for Seattle, though I wasn’t
sure what would make me look respectable enough to be seen with Susi. I had met
the two versions of the Brooks Brothers girl, the one in jeans and the one
dressed for success, and I had seen the compact athlete in damp t-shirt. Now I met
the artist that her classical training had created, wearing a long black sheath
with a high turtleneck. The sole ornament she affected was a wide cinch belt,
so it looked like I was escorting the second violinist or the harpist.
By this time, I was getting used to Susi taking me wherever
she wanted me to go—to Benaroya Hall for Mozart’s Requiem in this case, where we swapped roles and I could forget all the paranoia I have
about being recognized. When we came into the hall, everyone knew Susi, starting
with the gentlemen taking tickets at the door. The woman selling annual
subscriptions called Susi’s name and came over to speak with her. Same story
with the ponytailed guy tending the wine bar beneath the giant Rauschenberg
mural. Susi refused my offer to buy her a glass of wine, and I don’t drink, so
we both had seltzer water and walked up to the second-tier gallery to wait for
Randolph. An older woman dressed in dark green linen came over, giving Susi a
hug and kissing her cheek.
“I saw your father just the other day, Susi. He said you
were doing so much better. It’s so nice to see you out and about again.”
Susi had the knack some people do of turning a conversation
around on the spot, and in a flash she had the woman talking about her dog and
her grandchildren. When the woman drifted away, Susi said, “I have something in
my eye. Wait for me here,” and she handed me her drink and departed down the
hall.
“Cute girl,” a voice breathed in my ear. “Does she sing?”
“Ephraim.”
He looks like Bruno Ganz as the angel in Wings
of Desire , in black silk and leather trench coat, his hair pulled into a
tight ponytail. He’s ten years older than me and likes to lord the extra years
as being meaningful.
“The same. This gives us a great opportunity to chat,
Jason.”
“No, it just proves my luck still sucks. Every time I turn
around I run into you or hear from you.”
“It’s because our fates are bound together.”
“Is Dominique here?”
“She’s in the women’s room with your girlfriend.”
“Oh geez. Say what you want, Ephraim. You will, no matter
how I try to dodge it. It can’t be good, or Karl would have already told me.”
“All I want from you, Jason, is a small set of
reassurances.”
“I can offer a profound assurance that I’m still pissed off
about what you did to my music.”
“I won’t forget that. The situation will not occur again if
you stay and complete the work yourself this time. You were supposed to deliver
last month. I pulled every trick I could to delay and still get a new album in
stores this summer.”
“Thank you. You are such a great friend.”
“Jason, reassure me that you are professionally committed.
Otherwise, there is no
JASON
“S TOP AT FRED MEYERS, SUSI, so
I can get clothes for tonight. I can’t wear these everywhere. Your rich friends
will think I’m a loser.”
“I’m going to wait in the car.”
The cashier and three young women in the store recognized
me, but this was Fremont, and everyone was nice about it. I signed for one of
the women who wanted my autograph—it was a receipt for a Fleet Foxes CD, so I’m
not sure what she will tell her kids twenty years from now.
When I joined Susi again, Shostakovich played on the car
radio for spring time cheer, and she didn’t have anything to say on the ride
back to her house, where she made yakisoba with tofu, snowpeas, and shiitake
mushrooms while I changed. Then she left me to eat my noodles alone while she
changed.
I went to the trouble of getting a tie when I was in Fred’s,
ripping black jeans and a black shirt off the hangers and sprinting for the
cashier, thinking I would look respectable enough for Seattle, though I wasn’t
sure what would make me look respectable enough to be seen with Susi. I had met
the two versions of the Brooks Brothers girl, the one in jeans and the one
dressed for success, and I had seen the compact athlete in damp t-shirt. Now I met
the artist that her classical training had created, wearing a long black sheath
with a high turtleneck. The sole ornament she affected was a wide cinch belt,
so it looked like I was escorting the second violinist or the harpist.
By this time, I was getting used to Susi taking me wherever
she wanted me to go—to Benaroya Hall for Mozart’s Requiem in this case, where we swapped roles and I could forget all the paranoia I have
about being recognized. When we came into the hall, everyone knew Susi, starting
with the gentlemen taking tickets at the door. The woman selling annual
subscriptions called Susi’s name and came over to speak with her. Same story
with the ponytailed guy tending the wine bar beneath the giant Rauschenberg
mural. Susi refused my offer to buy her a glass of wine, and I don’t drink, so
we both had seltzer water and walked up to the second-tier gallery to wait for
Randolph. An older woman dressed in dark green linen came over, giving Susi a
hug and kissing her cheek.
“I saw your father just the other day, Susi. He said you
were doing so much better. It’s so nice to see you out and about again.”
Susi had the knack some people do of turning a conversation
around on the spot, and in a flash she had the woman talking about her dog and
her grandchildren. When the woman drifted away, Susi said, “I have something in
my eye. Wait for me here,” and she handed me her drink and departed down the
hall.
“Cute girl,” a voice breathed in my ear. “Does she sing?”
“Ephraim.”
He looks like Bruno Ganz as the angel in Wings
of Desire , in black silk and leather trench coat, his hair pulled into a
tight ponytail. He’s ten years older than me and likes to lord the extra years
as being meaningful.
“The same. This gives us a great opportunity to chat,
Jason.”
“No, it just proves my luck still sucks. Every time I turn
around I run into you or hear from you.”
“It’s because our fates are bound together.”
“Is Dominique here?”
“She’s in the women’s room with your girlfriend.”
“Oh geez. Say what you want, Ephraim. You will, no matter
how I try to dodge it. It can’t be good, or Karl would have already told me.”
“All I want from you, Jason, is a small set of
reassurances.”
“I can offer a profound assurance that I’m still pissed off
about what you did to my music.”
“I won’t forget that. The situation will not occur again if
you stay and complete the work yourself this time. You were supposed to deliver
last month. I pulled every trick I could to delay and still get a new album in
stores this summer.”
“Thank you. You are such a great friend.”
“Jason, reassure me that you are professionally committed.
Otherwise, there is no
Similar Books
