JS: But you're Unitarian. Aren't the people at your church going to burn you on a question mark for making fun of them in the book?
LP: They laugh at themselves more than anyone else does. Worst case is that I'll get hit over the head with a clipboard. The real reason they're going to be mad is that the official name is "Unitarian Universalist," and they're sticklers about that. But with ten syllables and twenty-one letters it would take up the entire book.
JS: Two of the main characters, Olivia and Bernard Stockton, are rather eccentric. Are they based on real people?
LP: Not specifically. I've had several terrific teachers and mentors throughout my life. I've also known many type A personalities, gamblers, bohemians, and oddballs, especially having worked on Wall Street in the 1980s and then in journalism and television. And I must confess that for the most part I'm charmed by them all—their terrific energy, idealism, creative vocabulary, and love of life. Also, growing up in the Unitarian Universalist Church exposed me to a large number of protesters, peaceniks, petitioners, and so forth.
JS: What did you steal from yourself? Give me one similarity between you and Hallie and one difference.
LP: I gambled as a kid. I'm an only child. My dad is an only child. His father was an only child. My mom has a brother and sister, but they don't have any children. So it was all these grown-ups and me. They weren't about to start playing Chutes and Ladders and Barrel of Monkeys. When I was five my mom taught me poker, and later I learned to count cards at blackjack. But I can only do math when I'm betting or there's a dollar sign in front of the numbers. Otherwise I'm a disaster. The major difference between Hallie and me is that I always knew what I wanted to do with my life, and if my parents had any expectations they kept them so well hidden that they haven't surfaced to this day.
JS: So what happens to Hallie after the book ends?
LP: She grows up and one day there's a cousin, niece, nephew, or neighbor's kid who can't talk to his or her parents and so she returns the favor of lending a sympathetic ear. Then they all join hands and sing "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" in a round.
JS: Yeah, sure they do. I can ask you anything and you have to answer, right?
LP: Yes, there are electrodes attached to my fingertips.
JS: What's the one thing you wouldn't want readers to know about you?
LP: As a teenager I didn't exactly volunteer the information that my father was a folksinger. But now I don't mind. I suppose I wouldn't want people to know about the shoes, the pigs, and the Knicks.
JS: I know about the shoes. When no one is around you have some of the worst shoes. The boxes they came in would look better on your feet than the shoes themselves. And I know about the pigs. You took care of the pigs on a farm when you were a kid, became emotionally overinvolved, and now everyone gives you pig paraphernalia (except bacon!). But what's with the New York Knicks? They're the local basketball team.
LP: I wrote a story for The New York Times and spelled it "Nicks." Of course, my editor fixed it before we went to print, but it became clear how little I knew about sports.
JS: But you played soccer in high school.
LP: That's why Hallie plays soccer. It's the only game I know how to play. Though she's much better than I was.
JS: I believe your claim to fame is never having scored a goal in four years.
LP: I was a fullback. We're just supposed to stand tall near the goal, more like security guards than athletes. However, I did score once. Though it was for the other team. My heel caught the ball and chucked it into our own goal.
JS: I was curious as to why there wasn't a dog in Beginner's Luck. You love dogs.
LP: The Stocktons had a dog named Buster, but he's dead by the time Hallie arrives, though he's still listed in the phone book. I think in the movie version the town will be the setting for a fight between two rival gangs of dogs, corgis and Chihuahuas, and it will be choreographed as a dance sequence like in West Side Story.
JS: I've seen you wandering around with scraps of paper falling out of your pockets, which means you're working on another book. Spill the beans.
LP: Last Call is a surprising romantic comedy about a somewhat alcoholic dying Scotsman who falls in love with a cloistered nun who also happens to be terminally ill.
JS: It doesn't sound romantic or comedic.
LP: That's the surprise.
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Reading Group Questions and Topics for Discussion
1. Why do you think Hallie's mother is never given a first name throughout the entire story?
2.Officer Rich is an African American in a predominantly white town. Do you think this makes him more empathetic to Hallie's feeling that she doesn't fit in?
3. Is it wrong for Olivia to seek companionship outside of her marriage while her husband is suffering from Alzheimer's disease, even though there's no possibility for his recovery?
4.Craig's parents are able to provide much more by way of material comforts and individual attention for their only child than Hallie's parents can for their seven children. Is this a sword that can cut both ways when it comes to the best interests of a child, or is one scenario better than the other?
5.If Craig is accustomed to a normal home life and has everything— he's a football star, smart, and has money for college and material items like his own car, computer, and TV—why do you think he's attracted to Hallie and the Stocktons?
6. Is there any character in which you see yourself or one of your friends, coworkers, or family members?
7.Do you think Bernard and Olivia enjoy being different, or are they just being true to themselves?
8. From what the guys at the poker game tell Hallie about the Stocktons, it appears that the Judge never knew his son was gay. Do you think the Judge's slow demise would have been any less traumatic for Bernard if his father had known about his sexual orientation?
9. Hallie's parents object to their daughter residing at the Stockton house on the grounds that it's not a Christian home. They object without really even trying to get to know the Stocktons. Can you think of examples where people may slightly twist their religious beliefs to justify a personal agenda?
10.Olivia's behavior can seem contradictory. One minute she speaks as if she doesn't care what people think, but then she does something to suggest she cares very much. Is this because her heart occasionally takes over for her mind, or because she really does care but just doesn't want to admit it?
11.Gil's family appears to have disowned him for being gay. Hallie has elected to leave her family, at least temporarily. Meanwhile, Olivia and Bernard are constantly disagreeing and bickering. What does all this say about the challenges of being part of a family? Should one always strive to reach understandings, or is it sometimes necessary to break away from family members?
12.Though we are told the Judge's first name, he's never called it or referred to by it. Also, he never speaks. Whether he hears or not is unclear. Is it possible the Judge is symbolic of an entity overseeing the action? Is it significant that he dies at Christmastime?
13.Although Hallie isn't aware of it at the time, her parents sign her guardianship over to Bernard. Is it true, as the adage goes, that if you really love something you should set it free?
14.One night when she can't sleep Hallie reminisces about how things went wrong in the relationship with her mother. Yet she can't come up with one specific moment or incident. Do most young adults arrive at a point where they're going to oppose authority just for the sake of being oppositional? Is this just part of growing up?
15.Hallie's brother Eric and sister Louise appear happy and contented to follow the house rules and engage in the typical routines of teenagers in their school and town. Why is it easier for some people to adhere to "the norm" than others?
16.Is there any one moment or particular mud would say Hallie transitions from child to adult, or is this a gradual evolution based on a series of events?
17.Most of us event
ually become a version of our parents. Do you think Hallie will turn out to be more like her mom or more like Olivia?
18. Has your own definition of family changed and expanded over the years to include some select friends? What makes a person "like family" to you?
************************************
For an exciting preview of Laura Pedersen's new novel
LAST CALL
available in bookstores everywhere in 2004
from Ballantine Books, turn the page
The Brooklyn-Queens Expressway thunders and quakes with end-of-rush-hour traffic. Flatbed trucks rumble past as they haul their loads of scrap metal to the East River junkyards. In the distance the skyscrapers of Manhattan rise and melt into a pale gray sky.
"We need to make a quick stop at the hospital," Hayden tells Joey as they head toward Shea Stadium. He squints into the strong June sun, attempting to realign his vision after a few medicinal whiskeys the night before.
"But Grandpa, you promised no death today," Joey complains. "I'm sick of going to funerals all the time." Why won't it just go away, this Cancer Monster that's attacking his favorite person in the world, this double-crossing disease that doesn't hurt while it kills? And why does his grandfather constantly need to attend the funerals of people who just died from it and quiz the relatives?
"Calm down," says Hayden and rumples the hair of the towheaded eleven-year-old sitting in the car next to him. "We're going to a baseball game for real. The Bone Factory is just a pit stop. Cyrus is passing off some special pills to me. And he may not be around much longer, if you know what I mean."
"I thought you decided to sit in the station wagon with the garage dooi closed," says Joey. Every time Joey opens the garage door he holds his breath, worried that his fifty-five-year-old grandfather will be slumped over the steering wheel.
"When did you start law school? Besides, that was last week's plan. Cyrus says pills are better—that I may not have the strength to get out to the garage, or if someone should find me, she'd tie me down." Joey and Hayden both understand exactly who that someone would be. Diana is Hayden's oldest daughter and Joey's completely neurotic and ever-vigilant mother.
"And I'm not about to let some hospital charge five hundred dollars a day to stick tubes in me," says Hayden. "Cyrus knows what he's doing. He was a pharmacist."
"You talk about Cyrus as if he's already dead."
"He could be by the time we arrive," Hayden jokes and rolls his eyes at the dense traffic. "They're the same pills he's planning to take himself. Only he wants to hang on long enough to attend his grandson's bar mitzvah."
The oncology ward is bustling as patients are wheeled past with IVs dangling from metal racks overhead, clipboard-carrying doctors and nurses efficiently scuttling up and down the corridors and into white rooms with beige rubber molding near the floor. Walking past the open doors, Hayden and Joey are hit by a series of different smells—the aroma of flowers, sharp disinfectant, and the odd sour smell distinctive to places where people are waiting to die.
Hayden doesn't ask Joey if he'd like to wait in the lounge. Nor does the boy try to avoid being part of the pilgrimage. If it's true what his grandfather says, that he really is going to die soon, then Joey wants to be with him every possible moment. He likes to imagine that when the Cancer Monster comes to take Hayden he can chase it away, like a superhero facing down evil, and perhaps even strike a fatal blow to prevent the demon from ever returning.
Joey follows his grandfather to the bedside of sixty-two-year-old Cyrus, haggard and wasted, dying of pancreatic cancer. Cyrus's wife, Hannah, kisses them both on the cheek and uses the opportunity to go and get some breakfast. Despite the hopelessness of his situation, Cyrus is delighted to see his old friend. Not only do the two men both possess sharp business sense, but they share a great enthusiasm for their adopted country. Cyrus had fled from a dictator-ruled Romania with his family when he was seven, old enough to remember the poverty and lack of opportunity in his country. Eventually he'd opened a chain of pharmacies in Brooklyn and Queens and made a small fortune. And who would know better than Hayden, since he'd similarly built a career in America and sold Cyrus plenty of insurance over the years.
"Did you have any trouble finding the place?" Cyrus jokes in a thin, raspy voice.
"No, I slipped an orderly a fifty and he took me right to you," Hayden jokes back.
Their banter is suddenly interrupted by a ferocious shrieking coming from the next room, followed by the thudding of cheap furnishings smashing into a wall. Hayden and Joey both flinch, as if this is the sound of death itself, while the patient grimaces as if his resolve to ignore this cacophony is wearing thin.
Cyrus motions for them to take a seat. "Nothing to worry about. Goes on all day long. Have you ever heard a dying person make so much noise? Talk about a death rattle." When the uproar finally recedes, Cyrus removes his hands from his ears and shakes his head from side to side as if it's giving him a migraine just to think about it. Then he adjusts the cardboard sign hanging around his neck.
"What's that, Uncle Cyrus?" Joey inquires and points to a big hand-lettered placard spelling out DNR in shaky red block letters.
"Do Not Resuscitate. That means they'd better not try to jump-start me once I'm on the train heading downtown. Or I can sue their stethoscopes off."
"The hospital gave you this?" Hayden skeptically examines the poor penmanship and the unevenly torn cardboard.
"No, of course not. I made it myself. The doctor only puts a discreet notation in the chart and a little card on the door. But I don't want anyone making a mistake in the dark." He shows them the penlight hanging around his neck that he switches on to illuminate the sign while he sleeps. "Joey, open the night table drawer there and hand your grandpa the orange pill bottle."
"Are you sure you have enough for yourself?" Hayden examines the half-full bottle. "I wouldn't want to leave you short, not at a time like this."
"Believe me, I don't need many." His voice turns serious and softens to a whisper. "I made these myself, Hayden. They're illegal and they're death bullets. Once dissolved, they can fell a rhino in five minutes." He looks toward the open door to make sure no one is hovering in the hallway. "You don't take these and then change your mind and call 911, okay? Because you won't be around to dial the ones."
Hayden nods in understanding and shoves the pill bottle deep into his pocket. As he does so, the prospect of death suddenly seems very real, as if up until now he had only been playing the part of a dying man in a movie. For the first time a sense of dread briefly penetrates Hayden's consciousness. He studies Cyrus's shrunken face. "So, uh, not to be meddlesome, but when are you going to, you know ..." They're interrupted by more shouting and what sounds like the crashing of bedpans and metal instruments against the adjoining wall.
"Ugh, who can die with all this racket, day and night she goes on, screaming about the Lord, priests running out with their hands covering their heads, red Jell-O splattered on their backs like blood. In fact, go over there and put one of these on her door." Cyrus taps his finger against the DNR sign on his chest.
"Get out!" A shrill female voice can be heard above the commotion. "He has forsaken me!"
"Sounds like one of those folks being deprogrammed out of a cult," says Hayden. He'd occasionally received requests from clients who'd been brainwashed into cashing in their life insurance policies and signing them over to the grand wizard. The family would inevitably hire lawyers to try and prevent the financial fork-over.
"Seriously, go and see if she wants some downers, just enough to give her a good night's sleep," says Cyrus, the friendly humor evaporating from his voice. "Send them with a bottle of champagne and tell her they're compliments of room 419. We can't get in any trouble for dealing drugs, at least not where we're going we can't." He takes an unmarked plastic bottle from his nylon pouch and shakes out a half-dozen triangular blue pills.
Hayden gingerly wraps them in a tissue. "I'll peek in on the way o
ut. We're off to the ballgame."
"If the Mets lose I'm going to kill myself," jokes Cyrus.
"Aye, me too," says Hayden.
"Cut it out, you guys," says Joey. Why did they sit around and make jokes instead of searching for a cure? "I hate it when you two talk like that."
"It's just like being married," Hayden says to Cyrus while nodding toward his grandson. "Okay, Joe-Joe, let's get you out o' this morgue and go find the alkahest."
"The alkahest?" comments an amused Cyrus. "That's a word I haven't heard since college."
"It turns things into gold," Joey informs him. "And holds the secret to eternal life." Whenever Hayden is taking Joey somewhere he doesn't want Diana to know about, such as the ice cream parlor before dinner, he announces that they're off in search of the alkahest. Only Joey secretly harboi the hope that they'll really find some magic device to save his grandfather's life.
Hayden shakes hands with his old friend and then leans over and kisses him good-bye. They both look serious for a second but won't allow themselves to be overcome by emotion. "The bar mitzvah is tomorrow?" asks Hayden.
"Ten o'clock," replies Cyrus.
"You're going to the temple?"
"If it kills me," retorts Cyrus.
"I—I guess I'll see you in a few months, then," says Hayden. "Don't try and tell me you believe in heaven and hell and all that malarkey."
"No, of course not. I just thought that maybe you did." Lately Hayden wishes he could buy into the whole afterlife business so that good-bye wasn't so darn final. It seemed as if it was easier to let go for those who believed they were indeed on their way to a better place.
Another crash is heard from next door, followed by more angry screams.
"Would you please go and inform her that I'm busy dying over here. And another thing, you insurance salesmen are slick talkers—try and stop Hannah from having me buried. She won't listen to me. And you know what I want for my sendoff."
Beginner's Luck Page 37
