Driver's Education (33 page)

FM: Can we get to Columbus now?

RB: There's one more thing: Mrs. Dalloway didn't just go ballistic for no reason. There was a bee in the car—a big one. And no one hates a bee like Dalloway.

FM: Noted. Now—Columbus.

RB: Columbus. Jesus Christ, Columbus. Okay. So there was an actual conference going on—but it was for pharmaceutical representatives, I think, not a medical supplies sales one. And I did score us an incredible rate on the hotel room, but it was at a Courtyard Marriott instead of a Hampton Inn. From what I understand, though, Hampton Inn was a sponsor of one of the festivals to which they were submitting
Driver's Education,
and so it makes sense that Finn would want to give the company a shout-out.

FM: Incidentally, I'm also staying at one in Tempe.

RB: One what?

FM: At the Hampton Inn and Suites, a member of the Hilton family of hotels.

RB: Do you have to say it like that?

FM: They're a sponsor. (
Pause
) Keep going.

RB: Okay. Finally, yes, there was a luau, which is where things may or may not have gone awry.

FM: Describe what happened.

RB: Well, we found Nancy Davenport in much the same way we found the lot in Pittsburgh—essentially, we cast her. We approached a dozen different girls who told us a dozen different stories. We'd spot them from across the room, wearing these pink leis and drinking mai tais. We'd ask them their names, their ages, their hometowns in a voice that was sort of interrogative, but mostly flirtatious. “What about that one?” I'd ask Finn when a girl had excused herself for a moment. “Her hair isn't blond enough.” “Okay, then what about the one before her.” “She was from Boston.” “No one has to know that.” And then I remember he said, “I like the way you're thinking, Randal. I like the way you're thinking.”

FM: Talk about Nancy herself.

RB: To be honest, I can't say that much about her. I spoke to her for a minute or two, but I lost you—
them
—both when they went out on the dance floor. By this point it was about ten o'clock and I had been decidedly overserved when it came to those mai tais. I don't remember how many women my mother's age I got inappropriate with, but it was definitely more than two. Possibly more than four. I took shots with them—mostly things with awful names like Buttery Nipple. I found some younger men in the bathroom who were snorting lines of Adderall and I joined them, which is the reason I've come to believe we were, in fact, at a pharmaceutical sales representatives' conference. I took
more shots. I sang something by Cat Stevens at the karaoke booth and I might've started crying. (
Pause
) I'm proud of none of this.

FM: The karaoke is my favorite part.

RB: Do audiences really need to know about all that?

FM: Absolutely.

RANDAL BAKER:
Kali oreski!

FINN MCPHEE: You're an hour late.

RB: That's how you say “bon appétit” in Greek.

FM: Can you please just sit down so we can get started? We only have this room for another hour.

RB: I'm sitting, I'm sitting.
Kali oreski!
Mrs. Phan made all of us guys on the tzatziki team learn how to say it for the Taste of Greece festival.

FM: When is that again? I want to come.

RB: Tomorrow. The plan is that we'll say it to each customer after we've given them a sample, which'll give the whole affair an air of authenticity and elegance, I guess.

FM: How's that whole thing going?

RB: We still haven't come up with a recipe yet, but we're definitely getting closer. Last night, we mixed in a pinch of
piri piri,
which is this spicy pepper that they use in Portuguese cuisine, and it gave the whole thing a nice kick. Mr. and Mrs. Phan are supposed to do a taste test tonight, but I'm going to miss it.

FM: Why?

RB: Because I've got to take Mrs. Dalloway to the vet.

FM: Wait, really? Is everything okay?

RB: I think so. (
Pause
) The thing is her cough just isn't getting better, and now once in a while I'll hear a little wheeze if she's been running around.
I mean I'm sure it's nothing though, right? There are new sorts of plants out here and, like I said, there's a lot of dust, and so I'm sure it's just that. I'm sure it's just allergies. I'm almost positive I'm overreacting. But it's always better to be on the safe side, I think.

FM: Does she hate the vet?

RB: No. Actually, she loves it. There's this little stuffed mouse they let her bat around, and they always shower her with treats.

FM: Keep me updated.

RB: I will.

FM: So—Chicago.

RB: Everything you see in the Chicago scene absolutely and positively happened. In a pressure-cooker scenario, I had the brilliant idea to forge Ernie Banks's signature on that ball (and perfectly, I might add). I kept my cool, even in the treacherous presence of the Gangster. I bowled her over with my dashing charm and tall-dark-and-handsome looks. And when Dalloway's life was in danger, I didn't hesitate; I swept in like the hero I am and rescued her from the claws of inevitable doom.

FM: The whole point of this is for you to provide a truthful account of what happened.

RB: But I love that story.

FM: Tell me.

RB: Fine. The truth. There was a pizza place, and it was called The Gangster's, but we really had no way of knowing if it was The Actual Gangster's, if that makes sense. We weren't allowed to bring the camera inside. We tried, but every time we were caught. So the physical details (the color of the tables, what was on the walls, etc.) probably aren't all that accurate: I remember the place seeming a lot newer than how Finn's made it out to be.

FM: And the bombshell?

RB: The Gangster herself didn't exist—she's a fantastic character, but
she didn't exist. Neither did the five hundredth home run ball. Or, of course the five hundredth home run ball existed, but certainly not there, in the middle of some pizza joint. From what I understand, when Banks cranked out that homer, the ball bounced off the foul line and fell into the bull pen—which is to say, no one ever really caught it in the first place. Not Finn's granddad, not the Gangster's father—no one. (
Pause
) But what sort of story is that?

FM: Indeed.

RB: I'd like to add that I did, though, win a baseball at the claw crane. And I did forge Ernie Banks's autograph across its surface. That part is all true. “We'll just show your granddad this,” I said to Finn. “We'll rough it up a little bit, we'll tell him it's the five hundredth home run ball, the one he lost, and we'll show him this.” “You think he'll buy it?” “You'd know better than me. I mean, it's not like the story actually happened, anyway. He's just convinced himself that it did. But yeah—yeah, I think he'll buy it.” (
Pause
) What?

FM: You don't have to say it like that.

RB: Like what?

FM: You don't have to make him sound like some goddamned lunatic.

RB: I was just—

FM: I think we've got enough for the day.

RB: Finn—

FM: We're done.

RB: Come on. That's it?

FM: We don't have any more time. Because you were late. We'll continue tomorrow.

RB: You'll be at the Taste of Greece festival? (
Pause
) Right?

FM: Yes. I'll be there.

RANDAL BAKER: That was a disaster.

FINN MCPHEE: Such a fucking disaster.

RB: How is your tongue?

FM: It's burnt, but it'll be okay.

RB: I doubt the ouzo helped.

FM: It was the only thing around. Jesus Christ, my mouth is still on fire. (
Pause
) Why don't you talk about what happened.

RB: (
Sighs
) The Taste of Greece festival was this afternoon. For the first forty-five minutes, everything was going well. Our tzatziki was a hit—people were literally forming lines thirty yards long to get a sample of it. Which is sort of where the problem started. One of the Portuguese brothers asked if I could take over his role chopping up the
piri piri
so he could focus on skinning more cucumbers. I told him fine, even though I had no idea how much
piri piri
the new recipe called for. I just kept chopping and chopping and adding and mixing.

FM: Your first clue should've been that people started sweating when they looked at it. Their faces turned red without even tasting it.

RB: I heard someone say it tasted like habanero sauce on crack.

FM: That's an understatement. I still feel like there are firecrackers on my gums. And it's not like it's not hot as balls outside, anyway.

RB: People kept having to run to the Greek lemonade booth—

FM: Which is ridiculous, because Greeks didn't invent lemonade.

RB:—and then when there was no more lemonade, they had to run to the ouzo booth. (
Pause
) I saw a mother give her daughter two shots of ouzo just so she'd stop crying. I feel terrible.

FM: Do you still have your job?

RB: Surprisingly, yes. The Goddess Athena's scored third place in the tzatziki competition.

FM: But there were only five teams.

RB: Mrs. Phan doesn't really care about things like that. (
Pause
) You're still sweating.

FM: I know I am, okay? Talk about something else. Talk about Buford.

RB: Oh, Buford was weird, all right. But that guy—the one who played the mayor of Buford in the film—he wasn't anything like—

(
Mobile phone rings
)

FM: Is that your phone?

RB: Yeah. Sorry. I thought I turned it off. (
Pause
) It's the vet.

FM: Mrs. Dalloway didn't come home last night?

RB: They asked if she could stay over so they could keep an eye on her. I have to go. I have to take this.

FM: Can you do it here? Can I film it?

RB: Turn that fucking camera off.

FINN MCPHEE: I've been trying to get hold of you for two days.

RANDAL BAKER: I wasn't here.

FM: Where did you go?

RB: I was camping near Alamo Lake.

FM: Why?

RB: You know why.

FM: I need for you to explain it.

RB: Because I like it up there. (
Pause
) I needed to spread her ashes.

FM: What happened at the vet's office?

RB: They told me she was coughing because of the tuberculosis. That the tuberculosis had returned. Or that it never really cleared up. I don't know. Her breathing was getting shallow and they were concerned, so they started her on a medication. I guess she was allergic to it. (
Pause
) And that was it.

FM: Did you get there in time?

RB: No.

FM: I'm sorry. (
Pause
) Randal? Are you okay?

RB: She was just a cat.

FM: We don't have to do this right now. We can do this later.

RB: She was just a cat, I said.

FM: I'm serious.

RB: We could have flown.

FM: What?

RB: After your father called about your granddad's third stroke—we could have flown.

FM:
Finn's
granddad. Please say
Finn's
granddad.

RB: And we should have flown. You knew there wasn't a lot of time. We should've parked the car in a garage in Iowa City and booked a flight, instead of spending half a day crossing Nebraska and getting stuck in Wyoming.

FM: Do you think you're maybe projecting right now?

RB: Every time I suggested it, though, you just became more adamant about driving.

FM: I was asked to get Lucy to California.

RB: But still. Do you know how frustrating that was at the time? And also heartbreaking? It was like you had convinced yourself that so long as you could keep Lucy on the road you'd be able to keep the old man alive. That basically our driving—our reliving and recreating your granddad's stories—was keeping the reality of his death at bay.

FM: (
Silence
)

RB: And also, before I forget, a note about those stories for the audience: you know that they're mostly Finn's, right? Or, maybe not mostly, but he definitely had a hand in them. The granddad set down the foundations, sure: a house of records in Pittsburgh, a legendary baseball game in Chicago. But it was Finn who fleshed them out. You know, threw some meat on their bones. He took his granddad's minor myths and turned them into these sweeping epics. And I don't think it was all that hard for him—I mean, it was basically what he did for a living at the reality show, anyway.