Chicano Frankenstein, page 5
SOUNDTRACK:
Patriotic music begins to swell.
VOICEOVER:
Make America safe again!
CUT TO:
A close-up of President Cadwallader smiling and giving two thumbs up.
VOICEOVER:
Paid for by Citizens to Make America Safe Again, fighting for a return to common sense in America, highlighting the importance of logic and reason, and defeating “wokeism” and anti–critical thinking ideologies that permeate every sector of our country and threaten the very freedoms that are foundational to the American dream.
SOUNDTRACK:
Music rises to crescendo.
FADE TO BLACK
Chapter Seven
“NICE JOB,” SAID NORMAN as he handed the brief to the man. “I made a few edits in red—okay, okay, I’m very old-school and like the red pen—but overall, you hit all of the right arguments.”
The man thumbed through the brief and nodded.
“I hate putting my edits on an electronic document,” continued Norman. “Nothing like the feel of a red pen on real paper, am I right?”
“I have heard that before,” said the man as he continued to thumb through the brief.
“I usually bleed red all over everything I edit, but yours was in pretty good shape—didn’t need that much tweaking,” said Norman. “Granted, it’s a relatively simple motion, but considering you hadn’t written one before—and you’re only a paralegal and not an attorney, no offense—this is definitely pretty good. Better than some of our young lawyers, actually.”
The man looked up from the brief and nodded.
“You are what they call ‘value added.’”
“Thank you,” said the man.
Norman leaned back in his chair. “Motions to intervene are usually granted, but it’s always better to put our best foot forward, right?”
“Yes. Best foot forward.”
“Anyway, put those edits in today. And then email it back to me so I can look at it one more time before I get it over to my secretary to file and serve tomorrow morning. I love getting things in early, plus defendant’s counsel is simply going to shit when she gets served with it. The last thing her clients want is having another party to litigate against.”
“Yes, I will do that,” said the man as he started walking out of Norman’s office.
“Oh, could you close the door behind you?” said Norman.
The man nodded and closed the door as he left. Norman snorted and shook his head as he turned to his computer screen and started scrolling through emails.
“Fucking stitcher,” he said. “Fucking goddamn stitcher.”
THE MAN WALKED BACK to his cubicle and pulled up the intervention motion on his computer. He set the marked-up motion to the right of his keyboard and turned to the first page that had red ink on it. He examined the red ink, counted the edits on each page, then turned to the computer screen and typed in the edits. The man went through the document, page by page, meticulously reading the red edit marks and then making the changes on the computer. After he completed the edits, he emailed it to Norman. He looked at his watch and saw that it was twelve fifteen.
The man reached beneath his desk and retrieved a black lunch bag. He opened it and carefully removed its contents: a tuna sandwich on wheat bread, a bottle of water, an apple, and a granola bar. He set these lunch items on his desk in a row according to size and shape. The man then retrieved a paper napkin from his lunch bag and spread it across his lap. After taking a bite out of his sandwich, apple, and granola bar—in that order—he took a drink of water. He then turned to his computer, opened the Google page, and typed in the search engine, good places to go on a date in Pasadena.
The man pushed enter and watched the results appear. He got 42.6 million hits. He scratched his chin and considered his next step. There were too many options.
“Hot date planning?”
The man swiveled in his chair to see who had walked into his cubicle and asked the question. Tina leaned against the side of the cubicle wall, arms crossed, reading glasses perched on top of her head. The man nodded.
“I want to plan a date in Pasadena because that’s where she lives, and she even has her office there, so I think it would be convenient in case she has to go back to the office after the date,” said the man. He then turned back to the computer screen and started to scan the search results. Tina sighed, entered the cubicle, and sat on the edge of the man’s desk.
“Are you going to read all 42.6 million hits?” said Tina.
“No,” said the man. “I need to edit my search.”
“No,” said Tina. “What you need is to listen to an expert like me.”
The man turned to Tina. “You’re an expert on dating in Pasadena?”
“Oh, my friend, I am an expert on all things romantic.”
“May I take notes?”
Tina laughed. “Yes, but everything I say is copyrighted, so don’t go stealing it for your blog.”
“I don’t have a blog,” said the man.
Tina chuckled. “I was joking.”
“I see.”
“Okay, before I bestow upon you my brilliant dating knowledge, what is it you want out of this date?”
“I don’t understand.”
Tina leaned in and whispered, “Have you two been… you know… intimate yet?”
The man leaned in and whispered, “Yes. Five times, over the course of two dates.”
“Oh, you two have been frisky,” laughed Tina.
The man smiled. He liked the sound of the word frisky.
“Okay, since you’ve already done the dirty deed five times with this mysterious woman whose name you clearly do not want to share since you’ve not mentioned it yet, how about a more cerebral date to help build on the carnal?”
The man lifted a pen to the pad of paper and gave a look to Tina that signaled he was ready to take notes.
Tina clapped her hands together. “Okay, how about a daytime date, like on a weekend, to enjoy our beautiful weather and your lady friend’s beautiful mind?”
“Yes,” said the man as he wrote the words DAYTIME DATE IN PASADENA at the top of the first sheet of paper. He then held his pen aloft, ready to record Tina’s words of advice.
“So… Pasadena… Pasadena…” said Tina. “Ah! I got it. I simply love the Norton Simon Museum. Great exhibits, beautiful gardens with a pond, good food at the café, a gift shop to spend oodles of cash in, and they’ve got these amazing Rodins on the lawn even before you enter the main building.”
“Rodins?”
“You know, Auguste Rodin. There’s something like seven or eight of his sculptures on the front lawn: The Walking Man, The Burghers of Calais, Saint John the Baptist, The Thinker, and my all-time favorite, the Monument to Balzac. And a couple more, I think. Here, let me pull it up on your computer.”
Tina gently pushed the man out of his chair, sat, and quickly found the museum’s website. After a few clicks, she located the Rodin sculptures and then let the man sit again so that he could click through the images. The man methodically pulled up each image and studied the sculpture that filled the screen. His breathing slowed, and he smiled. First he clicked on The Burghers of Calais, then Saint John the Baptist, followed by The Thinker, and then the Monument to Balzac. Tina enjoyed observing the man’s expressions change with each image. The man’s face brightened, his eyes widened, his smile grew. He let out an ah! with each succeeding image. Finally the man clicked on The Walking Man. He fell back into his chair and shivered. Tina leaned in to examine the photograph.
“That is pretty kick-ass, actually,” said Tina. “Very powerful, even with no head. Or maybe because he’s missing the ol’ noggin. I might change my favorite piece by good ol’ Balzac to The Walking Man.”
The man continued to stare at the image of The Walking Man. He did not recognize what he felt at that moment. All he knew was that his chest swelled, and his eyes moistened. At last the man finally said: “Oh.”
Tina clapped. “Yes! So that is how your date begins—at the museum’s entrance, where you two can be bathed in beautiful, breathtaking Rodin sculptures—and then into the museum for some brilliant art, antiquities, and more sculpture. And then after a nice late lunch in the café near the gardens out back, the happy couple can browse in the museum’s bookstore. Plenty of opportunities to get to know each other, right? That’s how my wife realized I was the woman for her.”
“Yes,” said the man as he continued staring at The Walking Man. “This sounds like a good idea.”
“Good? Good? More like brilliant, as the British say!”
“Yes, brilliant.”
“And then if you have time afterward—and to continue the theme of books—you can go to Vroman’s Bookstore and browse around, including the literary tchotchkes and collectibles,” said Tina. “Plus they have a wine bar there, too, which is pretty damn wonderful. The café has amazing coffee and baked goods—I love the scones, but they do have delicious pan dulce—if you want to keep alcohol out of it, which is certainly one way to go.”
“That is a very good idea.”
“I know,” said Tina. “I am pretty fucking brilliant at this dating thing. If I weren’t so happily married, I’d go on date after date after date, all perfectly planned. And if you ever have a second or third date with your special person, there are so many other wonderful bookstores to visit, both in and out of Pasadena: Octavia’s Bookshelf, Tía Chucha’s, Skylight Books, The Last Bookstore, Eso Won Books, Book Soup, Diesel, Libros Schmibros, LibroMobile, Other Books, MiJa Books, and on and on and on! I love bookshop dates.”
“Thank you,” said the man as he quickly scribbled some notes. “I will keep these in mind.”
“My pleasure!” said Tina. “Our kind have got to stick together.”
The man turned to Tina. “You mean paralegals?”
“That too,” said Tina with a chuckle. “That too.”
A jolt of recognition went through the man. Tina winked, turned, and started to walk away. The man never suspected that Tina was reanimated. She appeared flawlessly matched from head to toe, as if born that way. He felt a pang of remorse. Why couldn’t his reanimation doctor find a better match for his left arm? Imagine how much easier it would be to go through this world looking like everyone else. Normal. Just another person in a sea of people. The man sighed, and his mind went back to the helpful dating tips Tina had given him. The man smiled as his remorse receded and turned back to The Walking Man. He had a date to plan.
Chapter Eight
FAUSTINA AND THE MAN stood in front of the sculpture. A small brown sparrow hopped about on the lawn’s edge that surrounded the sculpture’s concrete base. The sun’s rays broke through the eucalyptus branches and leaves to dapple the bronze with an enchanted light.
“You make us proud of our legs, old man,” said Faustina.
“What?” said the man, keeping his eyes on the sculpture.
“That’s from a Carl Sandburg poem about this very piece.”
“Someone wrote a poem about this sculpture? That is something I did not know.”
“Oh, yes, my art history degree actually serves a purpose from time to time, even if only to entertain,” laughed Faustina. “But I had to go to law school to pay the rent.”
They continued to admire the sculpture.
“In French, it’s L’homme qui marche,” said Faustina.
“That sounds better than The Walking Man,” said the man.
“Everything sounds better in French.”
“That is also something I did not know.”
“And I bet you also didn’t know that The Walking Man is a version of Saint John the Baptist over there but without a head and arms,” said Faustina as she pointed to the other sculpture.
The man looked at Saint John the Baptist and then back to The Walking Man and then back to Saint John the Baptist. The little brown sparrow pecked at the grass three times and then flew off.
“Why would Rodin remove Saint John’s head and arms to make The Walking Man?” the man finally asked.
“Well, some think that The Walking Man was a preliminary study for the complete Saint John the Baptist, but others think The Walking Man was meant to be whole unto itself, complete in its own way,” said Faustina.
The man nodded in thought.
“And Rodin composed the sculpture from a fragmented torso he attached to legs that he had sculpted for a different figure. But I think it works, don’t you?”
“Even with a missing head and arms?”
“Look at The Walking Man,” said Faustina. “Would you change it if you could?”
The man studied The Walking Man again and thought. Finally, after a full minute of concentration, he said, “I think it’s perfect the way it is.”
“So you’ve answered your own question.”
“I did.”
They stood in silence, absorbing the power of The Walking Man.
“I often wonder how my life would have been different if I continued with art history,” said Faustina. “You know, getting a masters and PhD. Maybe I’d be teaching or curating at a museum like this. Don’t get me wrong. I love being a lawyer, doing environmental cases, attacking climate change, going after plastic pollution, and all that. Fighting the good fight. It’s God’s work, as Mom says. Plus the money ain’t bad. But I sometimes think about that other life I never had. Would I have been happier? Would I be a fundamentally different person? Do you ever think that?”
“I’ve never thought about that.”
“But I do know one thing,” said Faustina. “I love this museum. Every time I’m here, I feel renewed by the art.”
The man turned to Faustina. “I didn’t know you’d been here before. I thought it was something new for you when I suggested it.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all. I never get tired of looking at beautiful art. Besides…”
“Besides?”
“Besides,” said Faustina, “I’ve never been here with you, so that makes it a new experience, right?”
The man thought about this observation. “Yes,” he finally said, “I think you’re right.”
“Have you been here before?” said Faustina.
“No,” said the man. “At least not that I know of.”
“So in some ways I am looking at it through your eyes. So it’s sort of like a new experience for me.”
Faustina’s phone beeped. She studied the new text. “Oh, fuck,” she said.
“What’s wrong,” said the man.
“It’s Saul, my stepfather,” said Faustina as she texted a reply. “Mom is in the hospital. I’ve got to get there. It’s the Huntington Hospital on California, so it’s not too far. About five minutes away.” She took a few steps toward the parking lot.
“I can go with you,” said the man.
“Okay, okay, can you drive?” said Faustina. “That would help.”
“Yes, I can drive.”
“And we can get my car later.”
“Yes,” said the man. “I parked over there.”
“SHE’S SLEEPING RIGHT NOW,” said Saul as Faustina and the man walked quickly down the hall toward him.
Saul opened his arms to receive his stepdaughter and give her a big hug. After a few moments, they separated, and Faustina introduced the man to Saul as her friend.
“Happy to meet a friend of Faustina’s,” said Saul.
“Let’s go to the waiting room so we can talk,” said Faustina. “Just let the desk know so they can get us when they know more.”
Saul dutifully complied and then the trio walked to the waiting room down the hall. They entered the small, earth-toned room, and Faustina guided Saul to a row of chairs. They all sat.
“So what do they think?” said Faustina.
“Still running tests. Since she had that pacemaker put in, she had been doing better. But this morning she was feeling out of sorts, and then I got worried about the things she was saying.” Saul ran his left hand through his shaggy gray hair.
Faustina took a deep breath. “What do you mean, the things she was saying?”
“Well, she started to respond to any question I asked in, er, you know, Spanish,” said Saul. “And she knows I don’t speak much beyond a few phrases. I never was any good with languages.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, so maybe a stroke. They don’t know yet.”
“Did she slur?” said Faustina.
“A little, but not much. As far as I could tell, her sentences made sense, but like I said, I’m not the best judge of that. I asked her what day it was and what my name was, you know, all the things they say you should ask if you think someone has had a stroke. Those AARP newsletters actually have good articles in them, especially about health. Anyway, she was lucid and knew the answers to all of my questions. The doctor said it could just be that she was dehydrated or just tired. You know, we’re not getting any younger.”
“Have you eaten anything?” said Faustina.
“I had a few spoonsful of oatmeal and a sip of coffee, but I got worried about your mother so I decided to bring her here and worry about breakfast later.”
Faustina turned toward the man. “Would you mind running over to the cafeteria to get a coffee and a muffin or something for Saul? I don’t want to leave in case they get news about Mom.”
“I can do that,” said the man. He then paused. “Do you want something too?”
Faustina smiled. “A coffee would be great.”
“With half-and-half,” said the man.
“Yes, with half-and-half,” said Faustina.
“I take mine black,” said Saul, offering a tired smile. “Thank you much.”
“You’re welcome,” said the man as he stood and then left the waiting room.
“So how are you?” said Saul. “New boyfriend? He knows how you take your coffee.”
“Saul, I’m almost forty.”
“Okay, significant other? Partner? Reason for living? Booty call?”
Faustina let out a guffaw and then a snort.
