The Portable Veblen (19 page)

“We’ll drive her until she drives no more,” said Bill.

At the fancy, expensive Stanford mall, built over a vineyard in the 1950s and only a matter of yards from where Thorstein
Veblen’s town shack had stood off Sand Hill Road, Bill sprang out nimbly and opened the doors for the backseaters. Marion walked with Justin, whose feet were so large they occasionally crossed and tripped him. Bill offered his arm to Veblen. Paul bounded forth into the restaurant as scout, and the hostess gathered the menus and brought them to a table by the windows, which looked out at an enclosed courtyard built around a fountain, under the cancan skirts of fuchsias that swished from pots.

“Justy, you know that flattened chicken you like, scaloppine? They have it,” said Marion.

“Pork chops,” said Justin.

“Let’s see,” said Marion, with the help of her glasses. “Yes, they have pork chops.”

“I want pork chops,” said Justin.

“You always want pork chops,” Paul said.

“Who doesn’t?” said Veblen gaily.

“Veblen, you have to get used to the rhythm of this family, we’re a little slower than most, but we get there,” said Bill.

“Bill, did you finish that order?” Veblen remembered.

Bill nodded. “The five hundred peace sign belt buckles. I did. Whew, was that a marathon. Justy helped a lot on that big order, didn’t you, buddy?”

“I helped a lot.”

“Dad, please order a full dinner tonight,” Paul said. “He holds back, then he leeches.”

“Evidently I’m a leech,” Bill said.

“It’s nice to know the world still wants peace signs,” Paul said.

“It’s a start.”

“Dad, if you got an order for five hundred swastikas, would you make them?”

Veblen wondered what he was getting at.

“Um, no. I would not.”

Paul made a show of choosing an appropriate wine from the list, an Edna Valley Chardonnay, and the waiter made a show of presenting him the bottle and decanting him a taste, and Paul made a show of tasting and approving, and the waiter made a show of pouring for everyone, even Justin.

“No, no, no,” Paul said.

“Just this once?” Marion pleaded. “For a toast?”

“Come on, you guys. It doesn’t mix with his medications.”

“Just let him live,” said Bill.

Paul wasn’t happy. She could see it in the set of his face, the way he was squeezing his glass.

Marion adjusted her sweater with an air of eternal pluck. Bill leaned forward, his lips turned up.

He raised his glass and said, “Everyone, listen, please. I have something to say. Justin, listen.” He cleared his throat. “In the words of the great writer and environmentalist Edward Abbey, ‘A great thirst is a great joy when quenched in time.’ I speak not only of our chance to be together tonight and lift our glasses, but of Paul finding peace within himself and the right woman to spend his life with.” Paul’s expression was one of great suffering. “I believe, son, that you have found a wonderful woman in Veblen and that your heart will open and be filled with the joy that I have known with your mother. Sorry to be so mushy, but that’s how I feel. We love you, boy. We love you, Veblen. Here’s to Paul and Veblen!”

They lifted their wineglasses. Veblen smiled so hard her cheeks cramped. She held up her ring.

Justin collapsed, to stare at the tabletop point-blank. “You’re shaped like a worm,” he mumbled.

Bill said, “First I’m a leech, now I’m a worm?”

“I love you, Veblen,” Justin said. “I love you.”

“Did you want a ring like that, Veblen?” asked Marion.

“It’s really fancy, isn’t it?”

“My goodness,” said Marion. “Look at my old rings.” She held up her hand to display a set of silver bands on plump knobby fingers. “I can’t get ’em off. They’re part of me now. Someone’s going to have to cut ’em off with a saw when I die.”

Bill showed his modest band too. “Will we have the wedding up on the land?”

“Thanks, Dad, but we’ll have it here. Our friends are here.”

Bill said, “We could throw you a great wedding at the house, don’t rule it out. If you add up the costs and discover it’s all too much, consider it. We’ve got the space, full of flowers in the summer, a meadow, beautiful. You could stand under the gingko.”

“And all get arrested when the feds raid the property. Thanks, Dad, but our life is here,” Paul said.

“We have a lot of close friends who will want to be there,” said Marion.

“The
real
friends,” Paul declared, with feeling. “I don’t want every derelict who’s ever camped in the backyard.”

“Of course just the close friends,” said Marion. “We don’t want a circus.”

“And I don’t want Cool Breeze, no matter what you say. He
freeloaded in a tree house on our property for eight years, terrorizing us with bags of excrement.”

She noticed real tension in Paul’s jaw, his mandibles pulled back like catapult slings.

“It’s your wedding,” persisted Bill. “You know, I was thinking Caddie and Rich could sing.”

“You want a Jefferson Airplane cover band?” Paul said.

“They’re terrific,” Marion said. “Caddie sounds
exactly
like Grace Slick.”

“And looks exactly like Miss Piggy,” Paul said.

“Your wedding,” said Bill. “We don’t want to butt in.”

“No, you don’t,” Paul said.

Justin’s head hung low. He huffed on his silverware, and watched the moisture of his breath contract.

“You okay?” Veblen reached for his shoulder.

He nodded his head but wouldn’t lift it.

Paul whispered: “Don’t. He’s pissed I’m getting some attention.”

Was it true? The salads arrived and Justin began to bite at the lettuce.

As they ate, Bill and Marion rained affectionate questions on Veblen—she described Cobb and the scruffy little hammer-shaped parcel her mother bought years back because it was so rocky and so oddly sliced, no one else wanted it.

“Wait—hammer or hamster?” asked Marion.

“Hammer. The driveway is the handle, and then we have this area bordered by ravines where the house is, shaped pretty much like a hammerhead.”

“Hamster might have been better. In terms of space,” Marion commented practically.

“I guess hamster-shaped parcels weren’t available that year,” Paul said.

“It’s so weird how people like hamsters so much better than squirrels,” Veblen added, knowing that hamsters were hindgut fermenters and coprophagists, whereas squirrels were nothing of the sort.

Maybe to veer away from the further comparison of rodents, Paul coaxed Veblen into telling them about her translation work, and her interest in Thorstein Veblen. She described the article she was translating now for the project: a history of Thorstein Veblen’s Norwegian family in Minnesota.

“Sounds interesting!” Marion said. “There were many Norwegians where I grew up.”

They talked about Norwegians for a while.

Paul said, “I think he helps you justify your Spartan upbringing.”

She nodded. “Maybe.” Something had flashed past the window. “There’s a lot about him to like.”

“He endures,” Bill said. “He’s still widely read.”

“Is it okay if I say this? Veblen has a very dysfunctional family, possibly more than ours,” Paul blurted out.

“What the heck!” Veblen yelped. Was this necessary?

“Dysfunctional my ass!” cried Bill. “You’ve got parents who love you and your brother more than anything. What do you want?”

“Don’t get worked up. I’m just saying, Veblen has a real handful.”

“Yes, Paul’s told us a little bit,” said Marion, sympathetically. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“What has he said?” she asked, her cheeks ablaze.

“Well—” Marion collected her thoughts. “Your mom has a lot of health issues, I guess? And your dad’s in a mental hospital? And your stepdad is kind of, I don’t know, a eunuch or some such? And you had a grandma who wouldn’t talk to your mom, with a little megalomania? And I think there was someone else. Let me think. Oh, yes, the pilot, your grandfather, who was nice but had a second wife with a wicked temper who dressed inappropriately? And they all depended on you over the years?”

“You thought Linus was a eunuch?”

“No!” Paul blushed. “I liked him. I never said that.”

Veblen found herself hiccuping and giggling. It was all rather confusing, being held accountable like this. “Well. Sounds like he’s been very comprehensive.”

MUUMUU.

“You know, my folks were alcoholics,” said Marion.

Bill said, “We’ve seen it all. You stay open to your friends and you’ve seen everything.”

Just then a squirrel crossed the flagstones, leaving a wet trail. The trail had a natural flow and, with only the slightest pooling of the vitreous fluids, looked like a secret message.

“Look,” Veblen blurted, “it’s spelling. I think it says muumuu.” As if the creature were aware that women on the cusp of marriage were subliminally frightened by the word, carrying its associations of matronly bloat and housewifery, such that
repeated exposure during the engagement period led to a great increase in cold feet. Was it the squirrel from Tasso Street?

“Where?” asked Marion, putting on a different pair of glasses. “How can you tell?”

“Even the squirrels around here are brainy,” said Bill. “Here’s to Veblen, Thorstein Veblen, and MuuMuu!”

Justin began to laugh and pound his thighs, expanding and contracting like a man-sized accordion. He bumped the table, causing glasses and goblets to rock. He was in a convulsion. Bill jumped behind his son and jerked the solar plexus.

“Come on, boy! Cough it out! You can do it!
Cough it out!”
Bill yelled.

A woman in a lavender blouse rushed from her crab cakes. “I’m an MD.”

“So is he!” Bill yelled, as Paul fished into his brother’s throat.

They barreled around Justin and squeezed. Paul drew away and pounded on his back, as a tarp of romaine flew from Justin’s mouth like a parasail, making landfall a meter away.

“Thataboy,” cried Bill.

“There’s something else,” Paul said.

Justin’s wet eyes gazed blankly at the ceiling.

“Put him on his side!” yelled Marion. “Pat him on the back!”

Justin gurgled. Paul fished in his throat. Bill pounded Justin’s back. A mouse-sized chunk of bread came up and landed on the floor.

The rattle was gone. Justin swallowed air. Color returned to his skin.

Marion said, “Honey, should we take you back to the room and let you rest?”

“I’m okay,” said Justin, hoarsely.

“You take it easy, son,” said Bill, massaging his boy’s shoulders. “We’re fine, everyone, thanks.”

Justin sat up, runny-nosed. Marion dabbed him with her napkin. More towels went whipping around. Linens flashed, cutlery chinked, they returned to their seats. Someone picked up the mouse.

“You never know,” said Bill, finishing his wine. “You gotta keep on your toes.”

Paul remained silent, and in another minute the crisis dissipated over his plate of baby back ribs in a sesame ginger sauce with garlic kale and frissoned yams.

“Gotta stay on top of things,” Bill said.

“That’s right,” said Marion.

“He’s okay,” said Bill.

“You okay, Justy?” asked his mother.

“I’m okay,” Justin said.

They got around to the subject of Paul’s new job, and Cloris, and how she had recruited him. For reasons that were about to become clear, Paul hadn’t told them about his personal relationship with her yet.
A Hutmacher.

“What’s a Hutmacher?” asked Marion.

“From the Hutmacher family, she’s incredibly wealthy,” Paul replied.

Bill said, “I don’t care how much money her family has, is she an accomplished and ethical human being?”

“She’s amazing, Dad. She gives money to everything you believe in, you’d approve. Actually—”

Bill said, “Hutmacher of Hutmacher Pharmaceuticals.”

Paul nodded. “Actually, she wants us to have our wedding at her house.”

“Great connections, boy.”

“Stop it,” said Marion. “He’s telling us he’s being appreciated for his hard work, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“It’s not for sure,” Veblen said quickly, but when Paul glared at her, she said, “but probably.”

“Profiteers!”

“Dad, this is something entirely different, I’m not testing drugs, they’re licensing my craniotomy device, and that’s a good thing for everybody.”

“Don’t let them steal your integrity,” Bill said.

“I won’t.”

“Then stick to your guns,” said Bill.

“That, Dad, I will.”

“I have a hard time trusting big pharmaceutical companies, you understand? It’s my nature.”

“I know, Dad. But give it a break. She’s a very smart and discerning person. Hutmacher puts billions into life-saving research every year.”

“Those people are sharks.”

“Dad? Cool it.”

Bill placed his hand on his heart and winked at Veblen.

“I pledge allegiance, to the marketplace,

of the United States of America. TM.

And to the conglomerates, for which we shill,

one nation under Exxon-Mobil/Halliburton/Boeing/Walmart,