“Your hair’s thinning pretty rapidly, isn’t it?”
“Kind of. So what?”
“Then you need Follicor. It’s a pill that suppresses your testosterone level and lets you keep the hair you’ve got.”
“What about the side effects?”
“You may experience nausea, dry mouth, dizziness, hallucinations, the usual stuff. Oh, also, a small number of men experience erectile dysfunction. Pecker problems basically.”
“So I’ll have my hair, but no hard-on? What good does that do me? No thanks.”
“The percentage of men who become impotent is like two. I’m sure you won’t be part of that group. Plus, Follicor is also supposed to shrink your prostate.”
“I don’t have a prostate problem.”
“Oh, no? How many times are you up at night to whiz? Four is my guess.”
“Only three,” I replied, resentful that he’d been even close to correct about something so personal.
“As I suspected, you’ve got a prostate problem. That gland’s gettin’ bigger and bigger, day by day. Pretty soon it’ll be the size of a grapefruit.”
“Go to hell!”
“You seem a bit moody to me as well.”
“Do I? It’s probably my grapefruit-sized prostate pressing on my bladder.”
“The doctor can prescribe Xanax or maybe Prozac. That’ll even you out. Maybe Zoloft.”
“I don’t need to be evened out. I like being odd.”
“See. It may be worse than I thought.”
“Are you done?”
“No. We’ve got to do something about that weight problem of yours. I’m thinking fen-phen tablets.”
“Weren’t those banned for causing aortic valve ruptures?”
“Yes, but I know a guy who can still get them. Sometimes you’ve got to go the illegal route to get results. I learned that from El Jefe.”
“Oh, great. And I suppose El Jefe was a real health nut.”
“Not really. His diet consisted entirely of boar’s feet and cocaine, but boy did he love to jog.”
“Great. Very inspiring. Look, let’s just do the chee koong training and forget about all these pills.”
“Okay, but all this anger is very bad for your chi. It violates one of twenty-four rules of practice: never meditate when you have lost your temper or are too excited.”
“Let’s just get started.”
“Not until you calm down.”
“I’m calm. Let’s go.”
“No, you’re not. Your mind is scattered. If you meditate now, it’ll do more harm than good.”
“I swear I’m calm.”
“All right. We’re still in the sitting stage. Slowly drop to the floor . . . oops wait a minute. Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
“No, why?”
“Because that’s another one of the twenty-four rules.”
“Going to the bathroom?”
“No. Practicing with a full bladder. Holding it in disturbs your concentration.”
“My bladder is on E, all right?”
King handed me the Taiji ruler as we prepared to start.
“Good. Now we’re going to start with some deep breaths. I want you to clear your mind of everything. Breathe in . . . and out . . . in . . . and out. Good. Focus on the middle of the ruler.”
“What’s this doing for me, again?”
“I told you before. You’re inducing a state of meditation that will stimulate your blood and chi. You’re tapping into the life force that flows around your body.”
“You mean like urine?”
“No. I do not mean like urine. Now breathe in . . . and out . . . in . . . and out. You have to restore harmony and balance to your mind and body. Believe me, they’re both out of whack.”
“What will this help more? My yin or my yang?”
“It will help both equally. Now you have to concentrate in order to warm your Dan Tian.”
“My Dan Tian?”
“Yes. The seat of your chi. Two inches below your navel, deep within your pelvis. Imagine a flow of energy, information, light and sound that enters through your head, passes down through your nose, out to your open palms and back into your Dan Tian.”
“What is this thing? The bullet that killed Kennedy?”
“No more questions!”
King’s patience was at the breaking point when the telephone rang and interrupted our session. Desperate to get out of his boring as all hell breathing exercises, I answered it before he could object. Good thing I did. On the other end of the line was Sophia, calling from Cornell.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Sophia didn’t call me Daddy when she wanted something. She called me Daddy when she wanted something expensive.
“Hey, babe, how’s my little girl?” I asked cautiously, given her track record.
“Not so good.”
There it went—the perfectly cast line with the big shiny hook.
“I don’t like to hear that. What’s the matter?”
“Well, I want to go to business school.”
Finally, something I would be happy to pay for (if I had the money).
“That’s terrific. I’m so proud of you.”
The perfect game I was pitching got spoiled the moment Sophia announced that she wanted a boob job. My well-adjusted second-born child wasn’t quite so crude, referring instead to a breast augmentation procedure. According to my daughter, her Delta Gamma sorority sisters had discovered a direct correlation between the size of their respective hooters and their grade point averages. With slots to business school growing more difficult to obtain, a sizable set could mean the difference between Wharton and Wayne State, or so the theory went. I tried to appeal to the latent feminist in Sophia by reminding her that this type of plastic surgery served only to reinforce the objectification of women in our society as sex objects, and that she should seriously consider taking a bold step against such exploitation. When that didn’t work, I told her to get three estimates.
Fittingly, as I sat reeling from the blow of my daughter’s request, the biggest boob of them all called.
“Sky, it’s Trip Baden.”
“Trip, what do you want?”
“I think you know why I’m calling. You’re coming up on twenty years with Tailburger. And if you’re going to take early retirement, I want my cut.”
“I’m not taking retirement this year. And even if I was, you’re not entitled to anything.”
“Are you going to disrespect Jess by ignoring her wishes?”
“Her wishes? She didn’t even have a will.”
“She didn’t need one. Her love for me said it all.”
“Oh, spare me. She didn’t love you. She loved me. She was just confused for a few years.”
“You’re the one who’s confused.”
“You know what? I’m going to work at least five more years, maybe ten, and you don’t get a dime until my career ends. So get ready to wait for a long, long time.”
Trip knew that the longer I worked, the bigger the benefit he’d receive, but he needed the money now. Still, the financial difference between twenty and twenty-five years vested was considerable, and the difference between twenty and thirty was enormous.
“My lawyer will force you into an advance settlement, Sky. You’re only kidding yourself if you think you can avoid me forever.”
“Tell your pimp, excuse me, I mean lawyer, that I can do anything I damn well please!”
Trip said his shark would be circling me soon and to expect a phone call. The thought of losing half of what I’d worked for over the years made me queasy. With Sophia’s tuition and Ethan’s ongoing needs, not to mention the current cost of elective surgery, I was feeling a sharp financial pinch. My salary was pretty stagnant by now, and the stock options I’d collected over the years weren’t worth much, if anything, since Tailburger stock had lagged for what seemed like forever. I didn’t bother to tell Trip that my twenty-year retirement fund was itself in jeopardy. You d
on’t put lighter fluid on a bonfire.
12
Ground Assault
Two weeks before the scheduled launch of the Torture campaign, the Link insisted I accompany him to the Sisters of the Sorrowful Mother convent for the groundbreaking of the Tailburger Health and Life Fitness Center. Deathly afraid of exercise equipment and fat nuns, the Link conspicuously hid behind a buffet table gorging himself on finger sandwiches while I prayed he could handle the physical exertion required to shovel one load of dirt.
Sister Ancilla was the first to find us. She and the Link were fast friends these days, having banded together to keep the sordid details of the Fanny Pack settlement from the papers and the Mother Superior. Now, both were basking in the glow of the good press that had attached itself to the fitness center event. The Link was particularly happy to see Katie Chang Gomez, Channel 7’s weekend anchor, in attendance to cover the story. “The only thing blacker than her ass is her heart,” the Link often complained about the African-American newswoman who had climbed her way up the station’s ladder doing consumer health reports criticizing Tailburger’s fatty food.
A collection of nuns, Tailburger employees and board members meandered around the convent grounds, slowly filing into the fifty rows of fold-out chairs. Burton Roxby, Rochester’s beloved Congressman, and his wife, Yeti, were there, and from across the open courtyard, he waved at me. I diverted my stare and caught eyes with Annette McNabnay. It shouldn’t have been uncomfortable, but it was. There’s nothing worse than when rejectee encounters rejector.
Construction of the Frank T. Fanoflincoln Pavilion, the structure that would house the fitness center, would take four months to complete. Once finished, it would offer the sisters, and the public, weight training, aerobics, stairclimbers, treadmills, stationary bikes and the usual fitness flavor of the month, whether it was step classes, Pilates, Tae Bo or synchronized groin stretching. Though the Link would never participate in any of these activities, he would not miss his opportunity to address the crowd. Without putting down his two sandwiches or finishing what was in his mouth, he stepped behind the podium provided and began to speak with some impediment.
“Good afternoon, flellow flitness flanatics.”
The Link held up a finger to indicate he was still chewing.
“Boy, those sandwiches are good. My compliments to the sisters.”
Smiles and applause followed, particularly from Ned, Ted and Fred, who, resplendent in golf attire, sat attentively in the front row.
“The word that comes to mind right now is ‘dream.’ ’Cause that’s what this is for me and my family: a dream come true. You see, at Tailburger, we’re committed to serving high-quality all-American fare. And in doing so, we recognize that nothing, absolutely nothing, works up a hearty appetite better than vigorous exercise. Now maybe, and I emphasize the word ‘maybe,’ marijuana use does it better, but either way, vigorous exercise is right there with it. So when you’re done working out here, I want you to run over to our nearest outlet, order up a big old Tailpipe with cheese and tell ’em Frank sent you.”
Even when lying through his teeth about his views on exercise, the Link was at his most likable when making public appearances, and he knew it. The audience’s enthusiastic cheers warmed him up like an opening act and gave him a dangerous amount of confidence.
“For years, we’ve heard about the diminishing number of young women who are entering the sisterhood. And with that vow of chastity, it’s kind of hard to blame ’em if you ask me.”
The Link paused for laughter that never came.
“I’m kidding about the vow, of course. But I’m serious about the fact that we don’t have enough new nuns. What this means is that we’ve got to make sure the ones we do have last a long, long time. So the real question is how in Hades are we going to do that? Well, not to worry. I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna exercise ’em like racehorses, keep ’em on a strict training diet and use plenty of steroids. The lord’s ladies may be getting a little long in the tooth, but we’re gonna keep ’em in top condition so that the rest of us can make it up to that great fitness center in the sky.”
The Link punctuated his comments by thrusting his fist into the air (for no apparent reason) as scattered applause bubbled up and Sister Ancilla took the microphone.
“Thank you, Frank, for those inspiring words. I know all the sisters, including myself, are counting the days until the stairclimbers and syringes arrive. Here at the convent, we are very proud of our new association with Tailburger, a relationship we’re sure will continue long after the last of us has done our final lat pull.”
Sister Ancilla’s pronouncement brought the biggest smile to the Link’s face that I’d ever seen. Though he was not a true Christian by anyone’s definition, he desperately wanted the acknowledgment and blessing of the church so he wouldn’t have to go to hell, just in case it existed.
With my boss in his best mood in months, I decided to use the ride back to headquarters as a litmus test.
“Did you read about Sara Lee’s hot dog recall?”
“No. What happened?”
“Listeria. I guess it’s been getting into the nooks and crannies of the assembly lines and infecting the meat. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah, but cooking kills it, right?”
“This meat was already cooked.”
“Listeria. What a joke. When I was a kid we didn’t have listeria. We had little pussies who couldn’t eat a friggin’ hot dog without crying to their mommies about a bellyache.”
“Well, the USDA is coming out with a report, and Congress may make listeria testing mandatory as part of bill 214.”
“You haven’t killed that bill yet?”
“Not yet. I’m working on it.”
“These people won’t be happy until they destroy the meat industry.”
“It’s not just us. The cigarette makers have it even worse. Now I read that a group of private hospitals in New York have formed a consortium and are suing them for the unreimbursed expenses of treating smokers. Private hospitals. This is unprecedented.”
“Un-American. That’s what all this shit is. Un-American.”
“The mood out there seems to be getting pretty hostile. I think we should seriously consider settling the SERMON suit.”
“What? Have you gone crazy?”
“Frank, I think our best bet is to make a settlement offer and try to get out early. How long before all these groups come after us?”
“The hell with that, Thorne. The hell with that. The day we settle with those a-holes is the day the American way dies. Nothing but a bunch of bloodsuckers. That’s what those people are. Trying to tear down the American businessman any chance they get. And who do they hurt? Who do they really hurt? Not you and me. No, sir. It’s the average Joe Schleprock out there. The guy sitting at home in his double-wide with a Camaro up on blocks in the front yard. The guy who loves a good Tailburger.”
The Link wiped his sweating brow with a Tailburger wrapper pulled from his pocket.
“You think McDonald’s is going to pay some big settlement out of its own pockets? You think its executives are going to take a pay cut or let the stock get whacked when earnings disappear? The hell they will. They’ll do just what tobacco did. Pass the cost on to the consumer. Plain and simple. Nothing but another goddamn wealth transfer. (Pause) And where are the political parties during all this? The Democrats and the Republicans? Both playing possum, just hoping to hold on to the most campaign contributions. It’s pathetic, I’m telling you. Honest Abe must be rolling over in his grave.”
I hadn’t intended on waking the sleeping giant, but it was too late. Treading more lightly now would do me little good.
“So how do you want me to play this, Frank?”
“When are you scheduled to meet with that sorry excuse for a woman Meaney again?”
“Three weeks. Back down in D.C.”
“Okay. That gives us some time to figure things out. This
is going to be our Antietam, Thorne. The bloodiest battle you’ve ever seen.”
It wasn’t hard to see how my relationship with Muffet, if it escalated, could place both of us in the way of extreme harm. Just my good fortune, the first woman I desired for more than one night, in as long as I could remember, was hazardous to my health. I would have to cut things off with her before they really began. “This won’t be so hard,” I convinced myself driving over to Pappy’s for lunch with Cal. She was off-limits. Forbidden fruit.
“You can pull it off,” Cal insisted.
Cal’s success at leading a duplicitous life until now made him believe that he, and those around him, were bulletproof.
“No way. If I get caught with her, it’s career suicide.”
“Of course it is. That’s why you bring the Link in on it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You tell him that you’re going to get involved with Muffet Meaney as a way to soften her up for the settlement talks.”
“Link says he won’t settle.”
“He says that now, but what are his options? He knows he’s eventually going to have to come to the table. Having you on the inside can only help Tailburger. He’ll see that.”
“You think this will work?”
“Of course it will. You tell him that you’re taking one for the team. It’s a perfect cover. You’ll be like James Bond. Tailburger’s secret agent. Double Oh Sky.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. She doesn’t have to know a thing. The Link will buy it. And you get all the trimmings. It’s perfect.”
“You’re good, Cal. Completely sneaky, but undeniably good.”
“You have to be to survive in the industry.”
“Don’t get cocky, all right? I’ll think about it.”
Pappy came by and asked if we wanted any action on the Rochester Raging Rhinos, the city’s A-League soccer team. We stuck with the rigatoni and sent him away disappointed.
“Let’s talk about your campaign. When’s the launch?”
“Two weeks.”
“What’s the buzz?”
“It’s mixed. Whenever the NASDAQ starts bouncing up and down, conspicuous consumption suffers and we get hurt. Tailburger sales depend directly upon consumer confidence. Where that will be next week is anybody’s guess.”
Red Meat Cures Cancer Page 9
