Angry Buddhist (9781609458867)
Page 13
Jimmy thanks him for the tour. Oz says he’d like to grab a burger with him soon so they can shoot the shit, get to know one another. Then he disappears. Jimmy spots a couple of confederates, Danny Stringer, ex-cop from Riverside, and Miguel Sandoval, a guy with whom he’s worked several homicides, goes over and says hello. They’re glad to see him.
Jimmy talks with them for a couple of minutes but doesn’t say why he’s working here now. Then settles into his cubicle and glances at the files on his desk. It’s the usual array of check kiters, drug dealers, domestic abusers, deadbeat dads, armed robbers, rapists, child molesters, and kidnappers. None are high profile, so none are anyone’s priority save for the victim’s.
Investigators for the District Attorney’s office are given wide leeway in what they choose to pursue. Their evaluations rest on how many successful prosecutions they contribute to so, with this in mind, Jimmy sets about looking for cases he thinks can lead to convictions without too much effort on his part. The plan: maintain a low profile, avoid trouble, and clock hours toward a pension.
The files he was given contain a hundred cases. Jimmy breaks them down into five groups of twenty each. He will rank the cases in each group. Using this system, he intends to come up with five cases he can begin exploring more deeply tomorrow.
After forty-five minutes of strained diligence, it becomes hard for Jimmy to disguise exactly how much he does not enjoy sitting in an office. He is cogitating on this and trying to stay awake when a cell phone ring spackles his brain.
“Jimmy, it’s Maxon Brae.”
“Yeah?” Skipping the pleasantries.
“Your brother needs a favor.” Silence. It isn’t enough he made the pilgrimage to Mecca to look in on Dale. If Maxon is waiting for him to ask what can I do, he’s not going to give him the pleasure. “Randall’s going to give a speech at the first annual Riverside County Purity Ball and he thinks it’d be a good thing if you introduced him. We booked Jay Leno but he canceled.”
“What’s a Purity Ball?”
“It’s a campaign event.”
“And I’m replacing Jay Leno?”
“No one can replace Jay Leno, Jimmy. Jay’s an institution. But he had a conflict.”
He figures Maxon is lying. “Kenny Chesney’s playing somewhere local tomorrow night, isn’t he?”
“Kenny Chesney doesn’t like your brother. Asked him for a campaign favor one time. He was kind of an A-hole about it.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Just talk a little about working in law enforcement and what it means to have a brother like Randall.”
“You mean someone who can hook me up at the D.A.’s office after I resign from the police force?”
“Frankly, he looks pretty good in that story. And he’d like it if you wore your uniform.”
“We don’t wear those at the DA’s office, Maxon.”
“Your police uniform.”
“That would be illegal since I’m not a cop.”
“Since when do you worry about what’s illegal and what’s not?” Maxon knows what ended Jimmy’s tenure on the Desert Hot Springs police force, so there’s an uneasy silence while Jimmy decides whether to let the comment slide. “Randall wants it, okay? There won’t be a problem.”
Jimmy does not want to make any speeches on Randall’s behalf. He is not interested in politics. But Randall had gone to bat for him and now he is calling in the favor. Quid pro quo. It isn’t like his brother can ask Dale. He tells Maxon to give him the time and the place, he’ll be there. When he hangs up he briefly considers calling Cali to ask if she wants to go as his date, the evening a potential source of shared mirth. But then he realizes he doesn’t know her well enough to trust that she will be able to parse the ironies certain to be on display and decides their next evening together should not involve any of his family members.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Growing up middle class in the broad agricultural fields of Modesto, Maxon Brae was not the only boy without a father. But only Maxon’s had a reputation extending beyond Stanislaus County. In the late 1970s his mother had been a graduate student getting a masters degree in history at Berkeley. Maxon was the result of a brief affair with a pony-tailed former sixties radical who was a visiting professor at the university. When this man met bright-eyed, young Anita Brae, daughter of a school teacher in Eugene, Oregon, he was in the process of undergoing a conversion common to certain types of strident, slightly hysterical leftists who, having discovered flaws in liberal dogma, don’t simply reject their former comrades but treat them as if they have plague, and transmogrify into equally annoying conservatives. He cut his hair, traded his sandals for wingtips and founded a neo-conservative magazine called the New Clarion. All of this occurred in the years following the one time he had sex with Maxon’s mother.
Subsequently, this man married an heir to a timber fortune (it was her money that funded the New Clarion) and fathered two sons, one of whom graduated from Princeton and serves on the staff of a United States Senator, the other a Georgetown graduate employed as the youngest speechwriter for a prominent cabinet member. The father periodically turns up on various cable news shout-fests opining on the issues of the day. They are Maxon’s shadow family and it would be inaccurate to report that he does not think of them often.
When Maxon was born Anita Brae wrote to his father—teaching at the University of Chicago by then—who took a few moments away from the composition of his magnum opus, The Liberal Attack on America, to politely write back requesting that she not contact him again. This she acceded to, in the belief that someone who had turned out, in her view, entirely soulless, would have an influence on Maxon that could only be baleful. When the boy was ten, his mother—she had made a life as a high school teacher, never marrying—told him whom his father was but Maxon did not ask to meet him. And he has still never met the man, although he has always known he will introduce himself in time.
After graduating from an obscure state school in central California, Maxon began working as a legislative aide in Sacramento. The zeitgeist was blowing toward Jesus and Maxon was betting Christians to win. So while his Sunday devotions mainly revolved around visiting flea markets in search of mid-century modern collectibles, Maxon joined a mega-church that would allow him to remain anonymous while still claiming membership in a religious congregation.
Maxon Brae adheres to no religious dogma. Zealots are suckers who believe in the malleability of reality, that it can be changed through prayer. History has taught him that none of it has to do with prayer. It’s all about power. People can be sold anything, at least for a time. They might wise up eventually, but then they’ll be sold something else. He sees this in his own deluded father who first swallowed the cant of the left before rejecting it to make room for the comforting shibboleths of the other side. This knowledge simplifies life for him.
Although Maxon is not a believer in a traditional deity, he worships at the altar of Harmony, particularly the kind that finds aesthetic expression, and so he will occasionally dip into a museum when he finds himself in need of a quiet place to reflect. Today is one of those days. After his encounter with Nadine, he drives a few miles west to the Palm Springs Museum of Art. The museum is currently exhibiting a show of Bauhaus architecture. It is his hope that the cool, clean elegance will help settle his mind. If Maxon has a core belief, it is reflected in the beauty and order of the Bauhaus school.
The exhibit is divided into three galleries, the first showing architectural models, the second arts and crafts, and the third interior design. Maxon walks past black and white photographic portraits of Walter Gropius and Ludwig Mies Van der Rohe, two of his heroes, flanking the door leading to the galleries. Gazing at a model of an apartment building, he removes the tennis ball from his jacket pocket. He begins to work it in his fingers while he considers what to do about Nadine. What was it she had shouted at him? Try me? That did not bode well. This woman can, with the stroke of a computer key, destro
y Randall Duke’s political viability and with it deliver a serious blow to Maxon’s own plans. How do you recover if the throne behind which you have chosen to stand becomes radioactive? One either takes a long sabbatical and waits for the stench to dissipate, or finds another line of work. Neither of these alternatives is attractive.
As he considers his options, a distinguished-looking elderly male docent with a full head of white hair and tasteful eye makeup leads a tour group of senior citizens past on their way to the next gallery. Maxon has already ruled out trying to pay the woman to go away. Not having a solution immediately at hand is the kind of thing that ordinarily makes Maxon uncomfortable. But the clean Bauhaus lines soothe him. He holds to the idea that everything will meet in a pleasing way and all will be put right. How this will happen, he is not sure.
The heap of case files in front of Jimmy seems to have grown in the hours he has been at his desk although he knows this is not so. On his lunch break, he distractedly eats an apple he brought with him then goes to his car and turns on the air conditioner. But he does not put the car in gear and drive anywhere. Instead, he places his hands palms up on his knees and attempts to meditate. Rather than the elusive sense of calm he seeks, he finds himself lurching through the thicket of Randall and the Purity Ball—What do I owe Randall? What will he owe me if I do this?—and these thoughts crowd out everything else except the memory of his time with Cali. Although that evening was the high point of his past year, Jimmy is not sure he needs anyone else in his life right now. What would it mean other than more obligations? And how can he dock with someone else when he is sorting out his own way of being in the world? Hadn’t that been his problem with Darleen? Not to minimize her cheating and his drinking.
When he asks himself why, exactly, did he return to the work force with such alacrity he is not sure of the answer. His expenses are relatively low and he has no dependents. A long restorative vacation was an option. And yet here he is sitting in a pickup truck in the broiling Indio parking lot. He checks his watch and sees he has been at it for fifteen minutes, an eternity for him and more than enough in the current circumstances. He returns to his office and, keen to make sense of his tangled thoughts, logs on to his computer.
His on-line dharma coach Bodhi Colletti, whose computer image Jimmy has spent the past several Sunday mornings staring at, has let it be known that she is available for individual consultation. Bodhi does not respond when he first tries to contact her, but half an hour later his second attempt bears fruit.
AIM IM with DharmaGirl@gmail.com10.31 3:09 P.M.
Jimmy Duke
My bigshot brother wants me to do something inappropriate on his behalf. I feel like I owe him because he helped me get a new job. Is there a way I can do this while practicing the dharma?
Jimmy Duke
I should have asked if this is a good time to talk. Is it?
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
Jimmy, it’s always great to see your icon—but a little relational tip . . . in the future you might want to start by saying hi, asking me how I’m doing, and whether I have a moment to go over something with you.
Jimmy Duke
Sorry. So do you?
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
We were going to start with you just saying hi and asking me how I’m doing.
Jimmy Duke
How are you doing?
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
good, thanks for asking, how about you?
Jimmy Duke
Not great. Like I said, Randall wants me to introduce him at an event (he actually requested I wear my old uniform which is a crime) and I’m feeling a lot of anger toward him.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
yes, there’s a lot wrapped up into that one sentence—your brother wants you to introduce him—he’s asking you a favor—what he’s asking you to do is a crime apparently even though it seems like a small thing—and you’re having feelings around all of it.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
So let’s try to slow it down a bit and feel what’s happening in your mind and body right now.
Jimmy Duke
yeah, you could say I’m having feelings. Like I want to rip his heart out.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
is that a feeling?
Jimmy Duke
That’s what’s happening in my mind. Is it a feeling? I don’t know. I think it’s a fantasy that I’m having because I’m pissed off.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
what’s going on in your body?
Jimmy Duke
I’m tense.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
Where?
Jimmy Duke
Head, neck, back.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
Kalu Rinpoche said “We will never again have a chance to be born into a body like this one.” You need to take care of it. now take a sec, breathe a bit, and see what area of your body stands out as the least comfortable.
Jimmy Duke
Listen, I can go to a chiropractor for that, ok? I need some help with my thoughts.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
your mind and your body and your muscles aren’t separate though, they’re related to each other, soften the body and your thoughts may soften too.
Jimmy Duke
I went to look in on my other brother. He just got let out of jail. I think he’s going to have a hard time staying out of trouble. I feel like I’m responsible for him somehow even though I’m not and that’s making me tenser.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
ok so let’s back up a bit,
Jimmy Duke
Ok.
Jimmy Duke
You’re the boss.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
take a second, breathe a little bit, and see if you can feel a space in the eye of the storm of thoughts in your head right how—here’s a hint—to access the doorway into that space may well require you to feel your way into it rather than think your way into it.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
And Jimmy . . . . I’m not the boss. You are.
Jimmy Duke
I’m breathing better now. So how can I stop thinking about my brothers when I try and meditate?
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
Jimmy, you’re doing great—the idea here isn’t to stop thinking about your brothers or anything else when you meditate, it’s to become aware of the thoughts (that you’re thinking about your brothers) but not to engage in them.
Jimmy Duke
How do I not engage in them?
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
The heart of Buddhist practice is something called beginner’s mind which means looking at something with no judgements or expectations, just with pure openness. Think of it this way—you’re watching a movie—the movie is about two guys who look a lot like your brothers, you’re interested in the movie, it may even stir some emotions in you, but you’re not going to write the dialogue yourself, you’re listening, watching, waiting to see what’s going to happen next, you’re participating in the movie to the extent you’re curious about it but the movie isn’t you—it’s just a movie—so with beginner’s mind try to keep a little healthy emotional distance from it right now then see what happens to your feelings—do they change?
Jimmy Duke
I’d like to walk out of this movie.
DharmaGirl@gmail.com
That’s okay, too.
The earnestness with which Bodhi Colletti relates to the world is not something Jimmy ordinarily responds to, but he cannot argue with her general point. When he logs off and goes back to his case files, he is still vexed about Randall but he feels better equipped to get to the end of the day without sticking his head out the window and screaming. Before he leaves work he will sit at his desk and sip a cup of warm tea. He will experience the liquid as it rolls over his tongue, down this throat and into his stomach. He will pay attention as his lungs expand and contract. He will sense the cool air of the office on his skin. But while he will find al
l of this relaxing he will still be unable to walk out of the movie.
Dale Duke is not a man known for his sense of responsibility and Maxon can’t be sure that the freshly sprung ex-con will keep his rendezvous with the dentist. So he has taken it upon himself to get him there.
“How’s the new place working out?”
“All right”
Maxon thinking: You pissant ingrate, after living in a state prison for three years, inmates howling like wolves all night long, worried about getting shanked, bad food, locked in a cell and the most you can say is all right? It might as well be the Four Seasons your brother put you in yesterday. But Maxon doesn’t want to lecture Dale, so what he says is: “Randall really stepped up for you.”
“Want me to write him a thank-you card? Take me to Wal-Mart and I’ll get one.”
As they drive past the adobe walls of a popular resort Maxon thinks about the people currently booked into the rooms and suites. On the golf course, in the pool and at the tennis complex, they are oblivious to Maxon’s struggles. He knows they must remain that way. It will be a catastrophe if a day from now his problem is what they are chattering about over their fajitas and margaritas.
Maxon glances over at Dale in a black tee shirt with the words My Tongue Still Works emblazoned across the front. He had been wearing it under the polo shirt the RV dealership owner insists on, which he peeled off the second they left the lot. How does Dale get his hands on something like that so quickly? He is resourceful, no doubt. Maxon will have to make sure no enterprising photographer takes his picture in it before the campaign is over. That kind of sartorial display could cost votes. For all of Billy Carter’s watch-me-urinate-by-the-side-of-the-road, regular guy charm, no one could reasonably argue that it helped his brother. Dale’s narrative is meant to be redemptive. Advertisements for cunnilingus will have to wait.
As far as bending Dale to his will, Maxon has a fundamental problem: he senses Dale does not respect him. As a householder and a taxpayer, he is the embodiment of everything the former inmate holds in contempt. And he senses Dale views him as Randall’s errand boy. Ordinarily, he would not care but right now he needs the ex-con to stay out of trouble.