Everyone Wants to Be Ambassador to France

by Bryan Hurt

  Charles chopped vegetables in his kitchen. He was making a salad to go with his steak. He chopped tomatoes and onions, zucchinis and bell peppers.

  He chopped with zeal.

  “But we’re going to file a counterclaim,” said Kara.

  Her knife wavered over an avocado.

  She said, “The racetrack was not properly barricaded.”

  “The lawyers agree,” said Charles. “A post-and-rail fence is not an adequate barrier.”

  “Lawyers?” said Brandon.

  Charles: “My team of expensive lawyers.”

  Brandon’s father had been a lawyer. He’d practiced corporate law until he was disbarred for tax evasion. Currently he was serving time in the penitentiary in Chillicothe, OH, which had once been the prison to Charles Manson.

  Brandon liked to point out that Charles Manson was a very important figure in North American Ethnomusicology.

  “Charles Manson had close ties to the Beach Boys,” said Brandon.

  He said, “He contributed lyrics to the song ‘Never Learn Not To Love.’”

  “Everyone knows that,” said Charles. “His contribution was uncredited. The song was originally entitled ‘Cease To Exist.’”

  Kara changed the subject.

  “Let’s change the subject,” she said.

  She asked if anyone had heard about the gray whales.

  “Back again,” said Brandon.

  “Those poor people,” said Kara. “But I suppose everyone must suffer. After all suffering is the counterpoint to happiness.”

  Everyone agreed and Kara served dinner.

  After dinner she announced that she was joining the job search.

  “Lawyers are expensive,” she said.

  “As are weddings,” said Charles. “Lawyers and weddings.”

  Kara proposed a toast.

  16

  Brandon went to the grocery store.

  He pushed his cart down the frozen food aisle and selected frozen pizza, frozen pot pie, frozen lasagna, frozen buffalo wings, frozen mixed vegetables, frozen Hot Pockets.

  Then he steered his cart into the condiments aisle and reached for a bottle of ketchup.

  On the other end of the aisle Miranda July was reaching for a bottle of mustard.

  “Miranda July,” said Brandon.

  “Brandon,” said Miranda July.

  They pushed their carts toward each other and met in the center of the aisle in front of the salsa and mayonnaise.

  Miranda July’s cart was filled with cans of tuna fish.

  She wore a white T-shirt and her breasts were two small cones that pointed at Brandon’s chest.

  He tried to imagine them naked.

  Miranda July’s breasts, he thought.

  Veil of cotton, he thought.

  “Brandon?” said Miranda July.

  “Um,” said Brandon.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said.

  He asked Miranda July about the tuna fish.

  She explained that it was for a performance piece.

  She said, “I’m going to cover myself in tuna fish and molder on an expensive beach.”

  “Like the whales,” she said.

  “What beach?” asked Brandon.

  “Point Dume.”

  “Why?”

  Miranda July: “Art doesn’t ask why.”

  17

  Brandon paid for his groceries and went back to his apartment. His landlord was waiting for him on the front steps.

  “Your rent is due,” said the landlord.

  She sat with her walking cane across her knees and a cigarette burning between two fingers.

  “It was due last week,” she said.

  Brandon shifted his groceries from one arm to the other.

  He shifted them back.

  “I don’t have enough money,” he said.

  The landlord grinned.

  Her teeth glinted under the blank, gray sky.

  “How much did those cost you?”

  “My groceries?” said Brandon.

  “Your groceries,” she said.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I guess about one hundred dollars,” he said.

  The smoke rose off her cigarette.

  “I want them,” said the landlord.

  “My groceries?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Give me your groceries,” she said.

  18

  “Be an empty rice bowl,” said the yoga instructor.

  Brandon bent himself into the position.

  He pressed his hands and feet to the mat and pushed upward.

  What he liked most about yoga was the mat. When he stood on it he felt as if he were on his own private rubber island.

  I am an empty bowl of rice, he thought.

  His hips and buttocks strained toward the ceiling.

  Next to him Kara did the same.

  The yoga instructor strolled by and stopped to comment on Kara’s form.

  “Good,” said the yoga instructor.

  “Feel the fireflies in your stomach,” he said.

  The yoga instructor’s bare foot was planted on Brandon’s mat. His big toe was leveled directly below Brandon’s nose.

  Empty bowl of rice, thought Brandon.

  Empty bowl of rice, he thought.

  Private island, he thought.

  “Brandon?” said the yoga instructor. “What’s wrong?”

  After the class, Brandon arranged his face into a smile.

  He pulled his lips toward his cheeks, his cheeks toward his forehead, and his forehead toward his occipital bone.

  “What are you doing?” said Kara.

  “Smiling,” he said.

  “It looks painful.”

  Kara tied her shoes and continued telling Brandon about her new job. “Which is why yoga is good,” she said, “because work puts so much strain on the body. After work, my neck is strained. My upper back is strained. My lower back is strained.”

  “But you must be happy to have found a job so quickly.”

  “Not happy,” said Kara.

  She crossed her legs and began tying the other shoe.

  “What I feel is more like relief,” she said.

  She said, “Charles and I are relieved to have the extra money. Our legal costs are mounting and so are our wedding costs. The wedding decorator wants to know what we want for centerpieces. Charles wants floating tea candles. I want fresh flowers. Obviously we can’t have both.”

  “Obviously,” said Brandon.

  But the distinction bothered him long after he returned home.

  Why couldn’t one have both floating tea candles and fresh flowers?

  He stood in front of his empty refrigerator and gazed into its darkest depths.

  What a cruel world this is, he thought, where one must constantly be forced to choose between two equally attractive but competing desires. I can continue being an Ethnomusicologist, he thought. Or I can eat.

  19

  Vast greenness.

  Brandon stood at the tee box and gazed out onto the fairway.

  The hole was a long dogleg.

  Sand traps pooled in the distance.

  “What do you think?” said Charles. He pondered his shot and consulted with Javier. “Which club should I use?”

  Javier crossed his muscular arms, cupped his chin, and brooded.

  “Three-wood,” he said.

  “My thought exactly,” said Charles.

  He said, “The three-wood has a long flexible shaft, a nicely shaped head, and a thick, sturdy hosel.”

  Charles swung the club and the ball disappeared.

  It was Brandon’s turn.

  He swung his club at the ball and missed.

  He swung and missed again.

  “Two strokes,” said Charles.

  “The trick,” said Charles, “is to keep your head down and follow through with your swing.”

  Brandon swung again and this time the club connected.

>   The ball bounced a few yards before settling in the grass.

  “Good,” said Charles.

  “Well not good,” he said, “but you know what I mean.”

  Charles and Javier mounted the cart and drove ahead to look for their shots.

  Meanwhile, Brandon continued hitting his ball up the dogleg. When he finally came around to the other side of the trees he saw the cart parked in a secluded grove behind the green.

  Charles and Javier were in the cart and from a distance they seemed to be embracing.

  Charles seemed to be embracing Javier.

  Javier seemed to be embracing Charles.

  And it seemed as if they were doing something with their mouths, as if their mouths were also embracing.

  Shocking, thought Brandon.

  He thought, I am absolutely shocked.

  But when he thought about it later he was somehow not surprised. I was shocked, he thought, but I’m not surprised.

  20

  Brandon met Kara for lunch the next day.

  They sat on a bench in front of Kara’s office building and watched the reflections of clouds drift across the big mirrored windows.

  “How’d it go?” said Kara.

  She’d packed sandwiches for both of them, peanut butter and jelly for herself and just peanut butter for Brandon because he didn’t like jelly.

  “Fine,” said Brandon.

  “Charles is going to help you with the job search?”

  Brandon nodded.

  “Excellent,” said Kara.

  “Charles is so generous,” she said.

  She bit into her sandwich and a large gob of jelly flew out. Brandon picked up his napkin and pressed it to her blouse.

  “Kara,” he said.

  He said, “There’s something I need to tell you about Charles.”

  As the purple stain spread across her breast Brandon told her everything he’d seen out on the golf course.

  21

  “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  After Miranda July testified about Chu Chu and the racehorses it was Brandon’s turn.

  He sat on the hard wooden bench and felt the judge’s eyes upon him.

  He felt the jury’s eyes, the lawyers’ eyes, the bailiff’s eyes, the court reporter’s eyes, the horse owners’ eyes, Miranda July’s eyes, Javier’s eyes, Charles’s eyes, and Kara’s eyes.

  He felt Kara’s eyes most of all.

  Kara held Charles’s hand and glared at Brandon.

  The interrogation began.

  22

  Brandon described the scene the best he could.

  There was the noise, the stink, the heat, and the thick cloud of dust settling over the grandstand after Chu Chu had been trampled.

  There were horses splayed on the beaten dirt track.

  There were jockeys piled on top of them.

  And from underneath it all, there was the handle end of Chu Chu’s leash.

  The lawyer for the horse owners paced in front of the jury box.

  Twelve representative heads swung back and forth.

  “And your father?” she said.

  “Would you please tell us about your father?” she said.

  “My father?” said Brandon. “He wasn’t at the racetrack.”

  “Why not?” said the lawyer.

  “Because he lives in Ohio.”

  “You mean in prison,” said the lawyer.

  She said, “He lives in prison in Ohio.”

  She stopped pacing and cracked open the red slash of lipstick on her face, revealing two rows of very white teeth.

  “Let the record show,” she said, “that Brandon’s father is a criminal.”

  She said, “Let the record further show that his mother’s been calling him but that he hasn’t returned her calls.”

  Charles’s lawyer tried to object but his objection was overruled.

  “Your soul is narrow,” the horse owners’ lawyer told Brandon.

  She said, “Your character is flawed.”

  Across the courtroom Kara continued to glare.

  23

  Brandon pulled his couch onto the sidewalk.

  He wrote $100 on a piece of cardboard and leaned it against the couch’s cushions.

  Then he went back into his apartment and brought out his mattress, his bed frame, his table, his chairs, his television stand, and his bookshelf.

  He priced everything to sell and sat on the steps waiting for buyers to come.

  Soon two teenage boys appeared.

  Each was pushing a bike that appeared to be stolen. The bikes were girls’ bikes, pink with flower decals and silver streamers streaming from the handlebars.

  The teenagers dropped the bikes in the grass and flopped down on Brandon’s couch.

  “How much?” said one.

  Brandon told him.

  “How about fifty?” said the other.

  “Fine,” said Brandon.

  Then the teenagers assaulted Brandon.

  One punched him in the stomach and brought him to the ground. The other kicked him in the face.

  While Brandon writhed on the ground the teenagers picked up his couch and walked away with it.

  They left their bikes in the grass.

  Soon Brandon picked himself up off the sidewalk.

  He picked up the bikes and priced them $10 each.

  24

  “Your couch?” said Miranda July.

  “Yes,” said Brandon.

  “The teenagers,” he said.

  They were sitting on the floor of Brandon’s apartment. Brandon pressed a beer bottle to his swollen nose.

  On the TV on the floor across from them a news reporter was standing in front of the courthouse.

  A picture of Chu Chu flashed on the screen.

  “How’s your nose?” said Miranda July.

  “I think it’s broken,” said Brandon.

  Miranda July stared at his bruise. Her irises were two black disks that scanned back and forth across Brandon’s face.

  She asked Brandon if she could touch it.

  She said, “I’ve never touched a broken nose.”

  She cupped her hands over his nose.

  “It’s warm,” said Miranda July.

  “Warmer than a normal nose,” she said, “and firmer than I expected for something that’s broken.”

  A tear ran down Brandon’s cheek.

  25

  Charles and Kara stepped out of the courthouse and were greeted by reporters. The reporters pushed toward them and asked them how they felt about the verdict.

  “Victorious,” said Charles.

  He said, “This is a victory for dog owners everywhere. It proves that post-and-rail fences are not adequate barriers for horse racing tracks. We hope that horse racing track owners everywhere see the message that has been sent today and replace their post-and-rail fences with more substantial fencing.”

  Kara reached into her purse and removed a framed picture of Chu Chu.

  “Imagine,” she said, “if it had not been our little dog that had wandered onto the racetrack but that it had been somebody’s child who had been crushed to death under the hooves of so many horses.”

  Kara gazed intently into the cameras and continued fondling the picture of Chu Chu.

  26

  “Kara looks fat,” said Miranda July.

  “It’s the TV,” said Brandon.

  “I agree,” said Miranda July.

  She said, “TV makes everyone fat.”

  27

  That night Brandon had a nightmare.

  It began, as so many dreams do, as a dream of naked girls.

  The naked girls were washing cars. Some washed the cars with hoses. Others washed the cars with sponges.

  Eventually a school bus appeared for the naked girls to wash.

  They lathered and sprayed the school bus and when it emerged from the cloud of soap one of the naked girls told Brandon to
get in.

  “In the bus?” said Brandon.

  “Get in,” she said.

  Brandon got in the bus and said hello to Miranda July who was driving it.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home,” said Miranda July.

  But as the bus began traveling it became clear that Miranda July wasn’t taking Brandon back to Ohio.

  There was rainforest outside the bus’s windows.

  “Where are we?” said Brandon.

  “Puerto Vallarta,” said Miranda July.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Brandon.

  “Indeed,” said Miranda July.

  “But it’s also dangerous,” she said.

  As soon as she said this, three people stepped out onto the road in front of the bus. Each wore a red balaclava and carried an AK-47.

  “See,” said Miranda July.

  She brought the bus to a stop.

  The guerillas boarded the bus and pointed their guns at Brandon’s face.

  “Give us your nose,” said one.

  This one was well-muscled and had a familiar voice.

  “Charles?” said Brandon.

  Charles took off his balaclava.

  “Give us your nose,” he said.

  Kara took off her balaclava.

  “Your lying nose,” she said.

  Then the third person stepped forward and swiped the nose off Brandon’s face.

  “Brandon,” said his landlord.

  “I’ve got your nose,” she said.

  28

  When Brandon woke up his nose was throbbing.

  He found a note taped to his door.

  The teenagers wanted their bikes back. If the bicycles weren’t returned, the teenagers said, they were going to mess Brandon up.

  They made a short list of the things that they’d do to him.

  We’ll slice off your ears.

  We’ll feed your ears to the birds.

  We’ll invert your knees.

  Below the list was a picture of an earless stickman with inverted knees.

  Stickbirds on the ground were eating the stickman’s ears.

  Though the drawing was crude, the teenagers had been able to render the stickman’s obvious pain.

  Brandon decided not to be home when the teenagers came back.