Chapter 7
He woke up and there were buffalo. Alessandro was in their midst, snapping photos like a paparazzo. They animals reacted with the aplomb of any jaded celebrity, so surrounded were they with onlookers of the morning mist. It was a day like any other for their kind.
"Alessandro, get the hell away from those things. You're too close."
It was the cry of reason. Kjell and Carson watched from afar, neither for the first time, and saw nothing but potential for sudden catastrophe. The ground was wet and slick.
"Sleeping beauty has arisen!" Carson said when Quentin stepped out of the car.
"Where are we?"
"We are at a buffalo reserve somewhere near Idaho. Alessandro has been seized with the Romantic impulse. Perhaps it's best to leave him here, clamoring in his natural habitat."
Quentin looked halfheartedly but it was the same to him as staring at a country field of black cows grazing with long hair and little horns. They could not flee their bovine essence.
Meanwhile, Olivia did not stir from the car.
The rest of the day was less of a vacation and more of a cramped grind to the farthest edge of the continent. There was a massive lake by the road at Cour d'Alene, and they proposed and rejected the idea of stopping there. After that they were in Spokane, coming down from the mountains and into the vast fields of wheat and apple trees. They stopped at an Outback Steakhouse and Carson bought all of them lunch with his poker winnings -- all except for Olivia, who barely acknowledged their attempts to wake her up.
"Baby are you sure? I'm offering you a free lunch from one of the ten best chain establishments in the United States." Carson pleaded, grabbing her and shaking her by the shoulder as she rested in the back seat.
"Please go the fuck away." she groaned, not opening her eyes.
They walked in and got a table immediately, greeting their waitress with pale faces and bloodshot eyes.
"Please Alessandro, in fifty words or less, describe the significance that Monday holds for you. What is your understanding of the concept of Monday?" Carson asked.
"I'm very tired right now. Maybe Quentin knows."
"Quentin, you surely must agree that Monday is the eternal day of obligation and fatigue. What else is there to say about it?"
There was nothing. They ate huge steaks and Carson paid the bill in cash. He also continued driving and there was no mind now to anything but making time.
Quentin's hair was oily and his scalp itched and the smell of smoke had intractably seeped into his t-shirt. The odor of everything found its way into the seats where it clung, along with all the cigarette smoke that had been burned into the air. They were left to drive with the windows down, and somehow even after all of that, Alessandro still had the reserve to roll another joint and he passed it around to everyone. What kind of spectacle would they present to Mr. and Mrs. Karlsen that afternoon, getting out of the car, walking up the driveway, as filthy and lethargic as they were?
"Quentin Ross, what are you doing with your life this summer?" It was Carson.
"Come again?"
"Employment. Internships. Career plans."
"You sound like Marcela. She always asks me this."
"Well, I might have big plans for you in a few weeks, depending on how things go of course, and then Marcela will be satisfied as well."
"Awesome. Keep me posted." he said languidly.
Kjell shook his head as Carson spoke, signaling the nonsensicality of anything said.
The road itself was very close to being empty except for the lumbering 18-wheelers. The mitochondria of society. Whatever Monday meant to people, it didn't seem to mean driving from Spokane to Seattle on the freeway.
"Kjell, there are many good things going on back here. It's very sad that you haven't been home much. I might have some business propositions for you but I need to take a few weeks and get my own situation more fully squared away."
"What do you mean 'more fully'?" Kjell replied. "It isn't squared away at all. Your life is crumbling in disarray."
Carson nodded solemnly and took one last pill to get them to Seattle.
They had to drive quite a bit out of the way to drop Olivia off at her familial house. Even though they had just driven across six states, these extra thirty miles at the end were an insufferable chore. Olivia stared blankly out the window, barely saying a word that entire final leg. Who knew what weighed upon her thoughts. The good-byes were perfunctory, though they came with assurances that all of them would party the next day.
Finally they were on the little island in Lake Washington. There was a house buried amongst evergreens, and inside of the house there was a maid dusting picture frames in the living room.
"Que pasa Clara!" Carson shouted as they all walked in. His voice echoed from the high ceilings.
"What the hell is this? You have a maid?" Alessandro gasped.
"Clara comes over twice a week for a few hours." Carson said. He played around with their flat screen TV for a second, turning on the news to make sure nothing major had happened in the world. None of them sat down yet. There was a deck on the backside of the living room with large, wide windows looking out on it. There were bamboo blinds and the slats tilted up at an exact right angle from the floor.
The deck was made of white Swedish pine, a fact which Carson repeated twice. It stretched around to the side of the house and there were steps leading down to the yard in two different places. The surface gleamed from the coating of its water sealant and the boards were still as straight as they had first been cut.
"Feel free to stand here for a minute or two and take it all in. Later this evening we can walk down to the lake, there is a little pathway to a park close to here." Carson said, and then led them inside as soon as the sentence was completed.
Next they went upstairs and there five bedrooms, only one of which appeared to be in active use. One of the others was an office, two of them were guest rooms with double beds and Febreze-soaked carpets, and the final one was completely empty but for one, solitary yoga mat.
"What the fuck is this?" Kjell asked.
"Mother has gotten a little more, um, let's say focused on her practice. It's very peaceful here." Carson replied.
"This was my childhood bedroom!"
"I know, it is a bit shameful but really there wasn't a good alternative. The office is essential and the guest bedrooms were already set up, and you've never expressed much nostalgia for your time here in any case so I think they assumed it was ok to clear the place out. To start anew at chasing the wonders of life."
"Easy for you to say. They didn’t screw up your room. "
"Not as egregiously, but you can see that the personality has been stripped from it. The posters of that Chevrolet Camaro have been taken down, and my CD’s are in storage. "
"Well that does it. I'm coming home for five days this summer. Five days and not an hour more!"
"Kjell, you're so petty." Quentin said. "I need to sleep immediately."
Alessandro and Kjell were sitting on the carpet of their guest room, leaning against the wall. It was later in the afternoon.
"... and that's why I believe it's theologically spurious to isolate one or two types of sin and single out the individuals associated. The book of James itself says, 'For whoever keeps the whole law yet stumbles at one point is guilty of breaking all of it.'"
"I can't believe you're actually a Catholic. How?"
"It's the faith of my people."
"You can't be serious. Quentin, aren't Catholics morons?"
Quentin was just standing up and Kjell had realized he was awake.
"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Quentin asked.
"I'm very stoned." Alessandro said. "This seems like a most comfortable location."
Quentin nodded. Presently he began to wonder about the whereabouts of Carson, and he was told to take a look out of the window. He was greeted with the sight of Carson washing the car with no shirt on in the cool afternoon. They went outdoors to spea
k with him and it was maybe sixty degrees. Cold water from the hose was spraying everywhere.
"Jesus fucking Christ. How are you standing out here with no shirt on?" Kjell shouted,
"I would be very cold if I wasn't using the strength of my will to ignore reality."
"Why are you washing the car in the first place? It's my car. I don't give a shit."
"Can you imagine the consternation that would have been present on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Karlsen -- on father and mother that is -- if they had been present when we arrived in such a misbegotten state? That's why it is good that everyone has showered and applied a fresh layer of deodorant to their underarms, and that is why it is essential that the car is scrubbed of that unmistakably distinctive cannabis odor that would otherwise incriminate the lot of us--"
"I don't smoke pot, remember?" Kjell interrupted.
"Cleaning the car was a necessity. Since it would make me a particularly shallow human being to assign this task to our wonderful maid, Clara, who has better things to do with her afternoon, I came out here to perform it while the rest of you were sleeping."
"You don't sleep often, do you?" Alessandro asked.
"I'll sleep when I'm dead."
They were going out for dinner. Carson warned them it would be insipid, so they smoked another joint from the stash, crouching down in the back yard between the small pines. Small drips of water fell when the wind blew, stashed in the branches from days before. Most of the sky was clouds with just a small thin sliver of power blue. It was back into the white car, passing houses. Passing large houses. Turning languidly and drifting down the curved roads with joggers to the side. Evergreens and telephone wires in the air. Then merging on the freeway, across the bridge toward the bright lights. Blinding in their novelty in contrast to the open western skies.
Finally the bistro. Lexus cars and minivans lined up on the street. Black, white, and red. All of them wore dress shirts from Carson's closet, sprayed with aerosol deodorant to mask the smell of their indulgences. They walked in through the entry, past the hostess stand, and guided to a table by the window they saw the Karlsen parents who immediately stood up and smiled.
The white tablecloth, pinched between Quentin's fingers beneath the table, providing tactile stimulation.
"How do you feel about pinot grigio Quentin?"
It was a question directed towards him. One which he couldn't begin to answer capably. Mr. Karlsen with the wine menu, scanning through, selecting the table's bottle for the evening. One wine seemed as good as the next to Quentin Ross.
"I'll trust your judgment." he said.
"Good man." came the reply.
Quentin and Alessandro had been offered the chance to tell the Karlsens their names and college majors before the conversation shifted elsewhere. Namely, it shifted to exactly what Carson was scheming to do with his life, now that he had quit his job and spent most of his money.
"Klaus expects to see a couple openings in April. He was talking to us about it over the weekend." Mr. Karlsen said. Mrs. Karlsen nodded in support of the implications.
"Absolutely." Carson replied. "But of course his department is part of a very large company, and I'm leery of entering into another situation like that again. It's like I was saying with Bill when we spoke. I'm looking for a smaller organization or something entrepreneurial."
"About how much money do you have left after this round of jet-setting? Where's Olivia tonight anyway?"
"She has the sensibilities of her parents to appease, and three days with four guys may have compromised her sanity. In any case, I checked my account statement today and I have exactly $980.40 in checking."
"I see." Mr. Karlsen said. His voice seemed to have a naturally severe intonation, but the conversation of that evening was certainly not helping.
"How long have you and Olivia been going out? Is it about a year now?"
"Precisely one year. She has been a salve for my wounded soul."
"Well Olivia seems like a nice girl. I'm just going to say something from experience, since you seem to like her. If you screw around too long with this and that, and suddenly you're twenty-six years old and going nowhere, a girl like Olivia is going to move right along. You hear me?"
"That's a bit extreme. Olivia and I are in a good place right now."
Kjell was taking a drink from his wine glass, and his eyes glared over the rim towards Quentin with a skepticism that was instantly reciprocated. Both of them thought the entire conversation was bullshit. Carson was certainly bullshitting. It was the patrician tradition of crosswise conversation over dry white wine and they had front row seats at the table.
Then the food arrived and it was of uneven quality. Quentin had ordered salmon at the behest of the others and there was a small part of it that seemed slimy. It was one of the first times he had tried that particular kind of fish. As he was picking at it he got a text message on his phone, which he pulled out to read. It was Kjell.
"we fucking go to this rstrnt all the time. its not good!"
Quentin texted back.
"dey think olivia + carson r like serious?"
And Kjell, a moment later.
"what do u think hes telling them? they dont like her though - why u think shes not here?"
Quentin nodded. The redeeming feature of the night was the white wine, of which a second bottle was ordered. Mr. Karlsen told them to enjoy it, and his wife joined in as well until she became significantly more talkative towards the end of the evening. As she opened up more, the flavor of the night became more lively. She spread her questions equally around the table, asking about Chicago, about Italy where Alessandro was from, what girls they were seeing, what trouble Kjell was causing them, and so on. She also ordered a round of desserts and gave them (rather banal) recommendations on where to go in town the next day.
They rode back in two cars. Quentin was buzzed and leaning against the window, catching flickers of light dancing off the water of the lake when they drove over. In deference to the time since the Karlsen family had last been together, Quentin and Alessandro took a walk around the neighborhood and ended up in a small, empty park. It was quiet enough that Alessandro felt safe rolling another joint for them in the easy mist. They smoked it leaning up behind some trees, where they wouldn't be seen from the street, talking about life, the passage of time which was happening very slowly that evening, and the Karlsen family peccadilloes.
"This is not quite what I expected out of their house. I was thinking more of a McMansion but this is quite older and more refined." Alessandro said.
Quentin nodded.
"This trip was fun the first time, but I wouldn't do it again." Alessandro said. "I'd rather just go someplace and check it out. This whole driving all over thing, it sounds good in theory, but really I'm just exhausted."
"You slept the whole time."
"I know. There's just too much going on. A relationship that's a complete and total misapplication of the open relationship principle. I sensed an undercurrent of hostility. We were encased in a speeding steel box of reflected bad emotions."
"I think I know what you mean."
"It's the type of would-be open relationship that's tragically asymmetrical. A sort of halfway point to no relationship. I've seen this kind of thing amongst the paragons of post-modernity."
"It feels so crisp out here." Quentin said, clenching his arms across his chest and shivering.
Alessandro nodded. They started to walk back to the Karlsen house, but the roads were serpentine enough that they ended up hitting two separate dead ends, and eventually it became less about finding the house and more about walking for its own sake. It was only out of the black that they finally came across the proper street and stumbled up to their abode, having been away for hours.