Broken Piano for President (29 page)

The Beef Club is a swarm. People from both camps tell stories. Bust-A-Gut employees say they knew Dean was working for the other guy. Winters employees say they’ve heard he’s a spy from Bust-A-Gut. One woman claims she heard in the ladies toilet, from someone who read a blog, that he’s actually a Health Watch employee. Someone else heard that he’s Roland Winters’ long-lost son and that’s why he’s moved up the old ladder so fast.

However, none of these people want to be seen actually talking to Deshler.

Drinking is the only thing that will push away all these pressures. It always works. It’s what makes the Cliff Drinker the Cliff Drinker. The crush of two bosses squeezes a fist around Dean’s head. The Rusty Knife jangles that force loose.

Double Harry was not fun during their phone conversation this morning:

“So where does this leave me?”

“Weeeeeell,” Double Harry said, real easy.

“Harry, come on. I love this company. It’s my calling in life.”

“Oh, we’ve got some work for you to do, don’t worry.”

After lunch some guys in janitor uniforms boxed Dean’s belongings up while he worked. They said his office is being moved and that’s all they knew.

“Get them while they are still lasting,” Dimitri sputters into a microphone. His hearty cheeks redden under California sunshine. The crowd of hundreds cheers so loud it reminds one cook of a Metallica concert. The mob fans throughout the Olde-Tyme playland.

So far, the Moscow Five and Juan Pandemic’s first public appearance together is going just like Delia scripted. The Space Burger team took a few days off after the television special to travel and give phone interviews. But today, beef-crazed maniacs are gathered under the smoggy Los Angeles sky for a glimpse of history.

A flimsy stage sags with the weight of the Olde-Tyme Space Burger team, the restaurant’s manager and the mayor. “You have heard me speak correctly, gentlemen and ladies.” Dimitri is Yakov Smirnoff warming-up a Vegas crowd. All smiles and exaggerated accents. “Winters Olde-Tyme Hamburgers is retiring the Space Burger in honor of Moscow Five!”

The crowd divides in cheers and boos. Three of the five astronauts—the happy ones—lift a hand and wave to the liquid horde. Yuri and Pavel’s swing in dramatic parade marshal arcs while Keith and Sonja gently step behind.

Secretly, Sonja hopes fans aren’t traumatized by what happens next. She likes people, she really does.

Half an hour before this insanity, Pandemic shoved himself in a corner of the tour bus. The gleaming new ride is painted green and says
Space Burger
in letters that can be read at seventy-five miles-an-hour.

“Finally,” Pandemic’s drugless voice said into the phone. It was loud and clear and proud. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a couple days, Dad.”

“Sorry, I’m busy. But I’m here now.”

“Did you see me on TV? I nailed it!”

“Yep, yes,” Dad sounded distracted. “The hair looked good.”

“I’m really working hard. I’ve been studying the company. I’ve been nice to all my interviewers. I think I’m really doing a great job. I’m sorry I was so mean, pop. You were right. Thanks.” He breathed deep, realizing he’d never before been within a mile of sincerity with his father. “Thanks for giving me this chance. I want to make you proud.”

“Tim.”

There was a long pause.

“Yeah?”

“Tim, I have some bad news.”

“What?”

Roland Winters, taking several little breaks, explained the situation to Timothy. The whole thing lasted less than a minute, but took hours on Pandemic’s end.

Tears leaked down and soaked into his nylon mustache. Salt water loosened the adhesive and it slipped a bit.

“But Dad,” he blubbered.

Roland Winters sat in his office sniffing a glass of scotch. It burned.

“We had a deal, we…” Pandemic’s lightweight frame tightened. His words, gummy with mucus. “I’m your
son
. How can you do this?”

“Mmmhhhh,” he oozed. “We never had a
deal
, Tim. I discussed your proposition with the Board of Directors and they denied it. It’s not really even my call. They think you’re too much of a liability to work with in any capacity. I really fought for you, I did.”

“I saved your ass,” young Winters whined, throat sprained sore from sobbing. “You needed me to do this and I did it. I’m going to be part of the company. It’s my legacy.”

“Tim, I do need you to do this. Grandpa needs you to do this. You are doing an important job and we’ll compensate you for it. The problem is the Board…”

“Bullshit, bullshit,” he screamed. “Grandpa wouldn’t let some board push him around.”

“Timothy, I’m not your grandpa. God knows I try. I’ll say this once, the best way for you to get involved with the company is to do your job now. Show everyone you can be trusted, that you’re a responsible businessman. That’s the kind of thing these guys pay attention to. Okay?”

Pandemic dropped the phone. He staggered to his bunk.

Across the bus, Henry, Sonja and Keith chatted at the table. Henry filled them in on his life, ignoring the last six months embarrassing himself as Lothario Speedwagon’s bassist.

The scrawny Russians are the first brother and sister in space, they claimed. They grew up outside of Moscow and joined the military prior to the space program. Sonja was on a submarine and Keith actually flew MiGs, but never saw combat.

The topic quickly changed.

(No, be serious.) Keith’s eyes were full of wonder. (Nobody actually
eats
Space Burgers for pleasure.)

(I have,) Henry said, proud. (They’re good. Better than the Monte Cristo.)

(Even starving,) Sonja said. (I thought they were disgusting.)

(Space Burgers are not disgusting. Borscht is disgusting. Cabbage soup is disgusting.)

Keith’s laugh filled the bus. His fellow flyers stared and rolled eyes. (Cabbage soup! I will be eating the cabbage soup until I live for one hundred years.)

Sonja nodded. (Those hamburgers will be eating you, Henry. In the heart, yes?)

(Look at me,) he began smiling, realizing the two were toying around. (I am healthy enough to be a cosmonaut, yes?)

(You do not want to know the space life, my little Henry,) Sonja’s eyes went serious and small.

(What was space station like?) Hamler asked in shattered Russian.

(It was not what you do think. Not in the smallest percentage,) Sonja said, eating an apple. Henry couldn’t picture her wearing a big furry hat and pounding around in the Moscow snow. In the right light she could be from California or Arizona, he thought. Except for those teeth—those are a hundred percent Bolshevik. (It was a dark time and we are fortunate to be breathing the air now.)

(Yes,) her brother added, staring at the other three spacemen playing cards. (Everything here is not as it was up in space. This is not the scene we saw. They can try to kill us, but—)

Sonja snapped a spring-loaded squeeze on Keith’s shoulder, hushing him. She bit more apple.

(So how will you protect us from more insane Americans?) Keith said, speaking slow enough for Hamler to follow. Henry could never picture when people were supposed to look like brother and sister. Especially these two: he had brown eyes, she had blue. He had a flat, boxer’s nose, she had a long, straight machete for a vodka-sniffer. (You cannot clothesline everyone. You all carry guns, yes?)

(Every American must own gun, is law,) Sonja said with glittering eyes.

(I am giving a gun, but most Americans do not,) Hamler said and flipped open his jacket, revealing the holster and dark butt of a semiautomatic pistol. Lately, his opinion of the gun had shifted from fear to pride. (I have never owned one before. I am telling of my boss to
bang bang
Americans who
bang bang
at Russians, yes?)

The siblings nodded and Sonja said: (Let me see this weapon. This gun that will save my life.)

(I think not to.) He closed the jacket curtain on the gun.

(It will not be a problem. I have handled many guns from my time in the Navy.)

(Yes, I have, as well,) her brother said. (We have great respect for weapons.)

(This is not an option for today’s.)

(Henry, we are friends. Do not be afraid.)

Henry thought long. (I am not afraid. Nothing brings the fear to my heart. Except maybe for tall heights. But I am a charge-taking gentleman of the Earth.)

Sonja giggled. (This is not the first gun we have known, Little Henry. It will be a trust we share.)

Hamler shrugged, it spread his face wide. (The other cosmonauts will be seeing none gun, please.)

The Russian siblings nodded and pointed near Hamler’s breast pocket.

Hamler slipped the gun out with a fabric whoosh and passed it across the Formica table. Its black metal sucked in the light, every divot and crease outlined perfectly. The cosmonauts made approving noises in no language.

(Is it loaded?) Keith said.

(It is a beautiful machine. I am sure it feels beautiful to shoot. To
bang-bang
, yes?)

Hamler eyed the room, ensuring nobody noticed the firearm. (Yes, its power is more than my human soul.)

Keith glanced up from the gun: (May I hold it? It has been many years for me.)

(Quickly. Please be careful.)

Keith lifted the gun like its barrel was sculpted granite. He twisted it sideways and shucked out the clip. (Mmmm, this feels natural. Feels comforting.) A relaxed smile, the first Henry had seen, formed on the spaceman’s face—teeth just as rotten as hers.

LA in the winter was so much hotter than home. The air conditioner was blowing on Henry’s face. Outside the window, people were wiping sweaty brows and wearing tank tops. It was a weird, peaceful balance. Weirder still when factoring in the loaded firearm. But Henry was calm—everything seemed to be in its correct place. He was getting close to the people he was protecting. And that was good. The more he knew about Sonja and Keith and Dimitri and the rest, the more acute his senses grew. Their budding friendship made Henry want to protect everyone so much more. This job was becoming fun. And that was something Hamler hadn’t experienced since lifeguarding the summer between freshman and sophomore year.

Suddenly, Delia Ellery stormed through the motor home. “Hello! Does anyone have a watch? We need to be outside signing autographs. We need to shake hands. We need to sell
hamburgers
.”

She was sweaty and out of breath. Her suit jacket sleeve rolled into a nub. “Scoot, scoot. Dimitri, please get everyone moving.”

The cosmonaut leader stood and barked a few commands until the others rose and slid out the door, muttering Russian curses.

Hamler walked back to Juan Pandemic’s bunk. The contest winner was wrapped into a knot, sobbing. “Dude, come on. You’ve got to get out there.”

“I can’t believe him. What kind of father does this? God.” His mustache was wet fur, matted and sticky. His toupee had a serious cowlick, eyes cracked raspberry-red.

“Juan, man, I’m sorry. We need to get through this today. Tomorrow’s a day off. It’ll be okay.”