Driver's Education (32 page)

FM: What?

RB: Randal and Finn.

FM: And how did it do?

RB: It only attracted a minor amount of success, and mostly at B-list film festivals in cities like Nashville and Denver. A few places wrote about it, though, including this highbrow New York magazine that's very well respected, despite the fact that it's got a very small readership. I actually memorized this one quote that was particularly egregious.

FM: Let's hear it.

RB: “With
Driver's Education,
father-son team Finn and Colin McPhee have accomplished something that other, indeed more seasoned
auteurs
have attempted, only to then fail catastrophically: the creation of a prism in which art and life simultaneously reflect each other in a contortion of myth and fact; a reality in which the narrator is at once inextricably involved and objectively detached.”
A contortion of myth and fact.
I still can't decide if I love it or hate it.

FM: I think it's pretty accurate.

RB: That doesn't surprise me.

FM: Explain what you've been up to for the past year.

RB: I stuck around New York for the first few months after the film came out in 2014. Finn had moved back, and I think we were both determined to regain the footing we used to have with each other before everything else happened. And we did to a certain degree. If we didn't I don't think I'd be doing this for him.

FM: That's nice of you.

RB: But also—also there was something inherently different about the way we interacted. It was as if during those four days of the trip we'd managed to reveal too much about each other and what we were capable of.

FM: Oh.

RB: I'm sorry.

FM: If that's the truth . . . (
Pause
) Talk about when the girl approached you on the street. That's a good story.

RB: Right. Yeah, that is. Okay. So one day this past January, someone recognized me on the street. It was probably one of, like, the four people who actually saw the movie—but still, it was the thing that first got me thinking about leaving the city. Just escaping New York for good. It was this girl who looked about my age. While we both were waiting to cross Broadway at Nineteenth Street, she kept glancing over like she recognized me. Then finally, things became, like, so uncomfortable and obvious that she actually had to say something. So she spoke up, and the conversation
went something like: “I'm sorry, but are you that guy? From that movie?” “What movie?” “That road trip movie. The one that just came out. You look just like him.” I'll say this: they did an amazing job casting
Driver's Education
. Really, the guys were practically our twins. My only complaint is Randal could've stood to lose about ten pounds. “I'm sort of him,” I said. “What do you mean, you're sort of him?” “I mean I'm actually him.” “I'm confused.” “The whole ordeal is rather confusing.” “So were you in that movie or not?” “Only sort of. Like, I'm not him, but I'm the real him.” “So you're not him.” And really the only thing I could say was, “I guess not.”

FM: That's brilliant. But then, also, there was the issue—

RB: There was the issue of Mrs. Dalloway. She's been living with me ever since we finished the trip, and for the most part she's been doing well—she just sort of hobbles around and licks my toes. But then in mid-February she came down with feline consumption. At first I thought it was hairballs—she'd been licking herself more than usual—but then when her coughing got worse I took her to the vet, who diagnosed her with mycobacterium tuberculosis. I asked him if she'd get better, and he told me that she was very old, and that the cold wet weather in New York didn't help. So I moved us here. To Tempe, Arizona.

FM: That's a lot to do for a cat.

RB: She's a very special cat.

FM: Right. (
Pause
) Okay, but also, after the movie came out, you tried to get back together with S—

RB: Don't say her name.

FM: Not even now?

RB: Not even now.

FM: Okay. (
Pause
) So how did things work out?

RB: (
Silence
)

FM: How did things work—

RB: I'm living in Arizona with a cat.

FM: I see. (
Pause
)

RB: Stop laughing.

FM: I'm not laughing.

RB: I was heartbroken.

FM: I know. (
Pause
) Let's move along.

RB: Perfectly fine with me.

FM: What do you do here?

RB: I work at this Greek restaurant called The Goddess Athena's that's owned by a Vietnamese couple named Mr. and Mrs. Phan.

FM: Do you like living here?

RB: I like the desert. I like all the different sort of cactuses.

FM: It's “cacti.”

RB: I like how the moon hitting the sand keeps anything from getting too dark at night. I like that the dry air has been good for Mrs. Dalloway's breathing. I like that she's still got the energy to chase a lizard or two every day. So, yeah, I like it. We're happy.

FM: And what can we expect from you during these interviews?

RB: The truth?

FM: “You can expect . . . ”

RB: Right. Sorry. You can expect the truth. At least how I remember it. Which may be difficult because I think I'm probably just as guilty as Finn is when it comes to tweaking reality; the difference is he just got paid to do it for a few years. But, I mean, I'm sure I was an accomplice to his lies, and in some cases I might've helped him to tell them in better ways.

FM: Don't admit that.

RB: Sorry.

FM: It's fine. We can cut it.

RB: Isn't that against what we're trying to do here?

FM: Don't say that, either. (
Pause
) Okay. So, you've just watched
Driver's Education,
and you've got some thoughts regarding its veracity. Where would you like to start?

RB: Oh, God. I don't know.

FM: Maybe you could begin with the smaller inaccuracies? And then explain how they snowballed into these alternative-universe fabrications?

RB: But I don't think lying works that way.

FM: What do you mean?

RB: I think that, if anything, the first lie someone tells is the largest. Like, it's the keystone of the arch, and the rest of them, the lies, are just the surrounding stones that make sure the thing touches the ground. At least that's how it was for us. There was a commitment to lying early on, after you—or,
he
—received that initial call from his grandfather. There was this conversation that was conveniently stricken from the film's shooting script when Finn convinced me to live for four days in a way that he deemed worthy of his grandfather's legacy. Just big, and boisterous, and loud, and in a way that no one really exists. And, if we didn't succeed—and I'll tell you right now, given the version of his grandfather that Finn had created, it was impossible to succeed—anyway, if we didn't succeed we'd just twist shit around and remanufacture it until, when we eventually told the story to people, they'd believe that we did.

FM: Explain that more.

RB: Take the Arthur Kill, for instance. He must've gotten the footage after our drive because we never went there. We read about it in the same magazine article, and we looked at pictures of it on the Internet together—but we never went there. Firstly because I never learned to
swim, so the idea of sloshing around in those sinking boats was really terrifying to me; and secondly because motivating to get to Staten Island was always impossible. We did watch the ships from Hudson River Park, though. That part is correct. We'd lie with our shirts off and count sails and sometimes we'd talk about the Kill. What it might look like. And those conversations must've had some huge effect on him because I remember while we were driving somewhere in Ohio he said, “It'd be a great place to start this story.” I told him, “But we never actually went there.” And he said, “No one really cares about that. No one
will
really care about that.” “What about just starting it where it actually started?” “Where things actually start is never all that interesting.” And so I told him, all right, and then I asked him not to include the thing about me being unable to swim.

FM: I think we're almost out of time.

RB: I have to go to work, anyway.

FM: Can you be here the same time tomorrow?

RB: Yeah. Okay.

FINN MCPHEE: Okay, go.

RANDAL BAKER: Wait, I have a question first.

FM: What?

RB: How'd you find this place, anyway?

FM: Some classified ad in the
East Valley Tribune
. There's a company that rents out these suites by the hour.

RB: It's sort of dreary, isn't it? Grey chairs. That desk. The fluorescent lighting.

FM: You just think that because you've never worked in an actual office.

RB: Well, regardless, it was nice of you to come to Tempe.

FM: I was happy to. Besides, you refused to come to New York. (
Pause
) What's that fucking smell?

RB: (
Sighs
) It's me. It's garlic.

FM: Why do you smell like that much garlic?

RB: Today, after I finished up my second shift at The Goddess Athena's, I was changing out of my
foustanella
and into a pair of shorts when Mrs. Phan comes up to me and says, “You a Greek?” I tell her, “I'm a Jew.” “You cook Greek food?” “No, I don't cook Greek food, because I'm a Jew.” “You make good tzatziki?” “No, I don't make good tzatziki because I'm not Greek, I'm a Jew.” “You saying you a Jew?” “I'm saying I'm a Jew.” Then she just sort of squints at me while I'm zipping up my fly. And then
she suddenly grabs my arm and drags me into the kitchen and goes, “It no matter. You all look the same anyway.”

FM: You do look a little Greek.

RB:
Anyway
. On top of clocking in double shifts, I'm now also helping out in the kitchen. Where, as I learned tonight, there are no actual Greeks. There's a Mexican and an Italian and a pair of brothers from Portugal—but no Greeks. Mrs. Phan has got it in her head that she wants to unveil some new type of tzatziki for Tempe's Taste of Greece festival, which is in four days, and so she's got us all futzing around to create a new recipe. But the thing is, not a single one of these guys actually knows what he's doing. Like, they know how to cook Greek food, but only the basics: they can skewer some souvlaki or layer some moussaka. But that's it. When it comes to altering the original, everyone's lost. The Mexican suggested we add melted queso, which was a total disaster.

FM: That sounds disgusting.

RB: The Italian stirred in a tablespoon of marinara, which was okay, but it really just made it taste like sour Thousand Island dressing. One of the Portuguese brothers asked me, “What is it that you can do?” “I can spread it on some challah.” The other brother said, “You will chop the garlic.” So that's what I did, I chopped it for three fucking hours.

FM: That also explains why you're late.

RB: Yes, it does.

FM: How is Dalloway?

RB: She's fine. She's coughing again, but I'm sure it's just her allergies. There's a lot of dust here. (
Pause
) Last night she brought me a dead snake.

FM: Really?

RB: Really.

FM: That's
awesome
.

RB: I thought so, too.

FM: All right. So. Let's talk about Pittsburgh.

RB: Okay.

FM: Because that's where the editing really started.

RB: That's not true. Yip was actually skinny, and the weather—it rained the whole time.

FM: Then the
substantial
editing.

RB: That's true. Finding that empty lot where the house of records supposedly stood was a disaster.

FM: Talk about that.

RB: Basically, the taxi had to drive us around for hours as we looked for it. And trust me—there's not some dearth of abandoned spaces in Pittsburgh; there's plenty of them. Finn just had to find the perfect one. The one where he could fully imagine the house of records being. He'd make me jog out into the middle of each lot so he could get a sense of perspective. He'd yell, “You can see too many new condos in the background” and “That fence on the left side doesn't make a lot of sense.” Then we'd get back in the cab and drive around some more.

FM: So, essentially, you were location scouting.

RB: That's one way to put it. We were finding the best iteration of a story that was a lie in the first place. Another way to say it is that we were manufacturing memories. (
Pause
) What?

FM: Nothing. Why?

RB: You were doing that thing you do when you're nervous. Where you claw at your thumb.

FM: Talk about Columbus.

RB: That wasn't my finest hour.

FM: Talk about why.

RB: Okay. But there are some other things I want to mention first.

FM: Like what?

RB: Like, for example, how that goddamned car broke down twenty miles west of Pittsburgh.

FM: That was a nonissue. The whole thing took two hours, tops.

RB: Still, though. It happened, and you edited it out of the story you told. And you asked me to tell the truth during these interviews, so . . .

FM: (
Pause
) Fine. That's fair. What else?

RB: How about how the car leaked? Which was terrible because, like I said, it rained most of the time. Both windows on the passenger side didn't seal completely when they were closed. They sagged about half an inch below where they should have been. We tried stuffing various objects in the space in order to plug the leak—empty soda cups, our T-shirts, Finn's head. Oh, come on. Don't give me that look. I'm kidding. Anyway, none of it worked, so we drove across the country with puddles at our feet. That wasn't fun.