Crossroads
- Автор: Франзен Джонатан
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Crossroads». Краткое содержание книги:
Universally recognized as the leading novelist of his generation, Jonathan Franzen is often described as a teller of family stories. Only now, though, in *Crossroads* , has he given us a novel in which a family, in all the intricacy of its...
“I don’t drink,” she said, as if this were the issue.
“Pfff.”
“Also, I’m pretty much with Tanner, so.”
“Good, good. We’re up to pretty much. But that’s all the more reason you should get to know me. I’m praying to God these guys are—wait. Are you in the band?”
“No.”
“More’s the pity. My point is, if I can’t sign them, I suffered through Peter Paul and Betty Lou and drove eight miles in a blizzard for no reason. I’m already favorably predisposed, if you take my meaning, and if they end up signing I’ll be seeing you around. Why not start things off with a little drink?”
“I can’t. In fact, I should be—”
“Follow-up question: Why aren’t you in the band?”
“Me? I’m not musical.”
“Everybody’s musical. Have you tried the tambourine?”
She stared at him. There was a gold chain around his neck.
“The reason I ask,” he said, “is your presentation is extremely classy. I could really dig seeing you on a stage.”
She tried to unfog her brain and calculate whether being nice to Gig would further incline him to sign the Bleu Notes, or whether she should even want him to be Tanner’s agent, given his apparently icky character. Deeper in the fog was the upsetting news that he was there to hear Laura.
“Ugh, listen to me,” he said. “I totally sound like I’m hitting on you, although I bet you get that all the time. You’re a seriously good-looking girl. If I may say so, it’s good to see you dressing like you know it. I don’t think I ever saw a dowdier crowd than what’s downstairs. Clodhoppers and overalls and thermal underwear—is it a religious thing?”
“It’s just the style of the youth group.”
“Which you don’t want any part of. I get it. I presume that’s why you’re up here hiding?”
In the sanctuary, Becky had promised Jesus that she would live in accordance with his teachings and not shy from proclaiming it. Now she could see how much courage it would take to be a Christian in the mundane world. “No,” she said. “I came up here to pray.”
“Oh boy.” Gig laughed. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me, being as we’re in a church. But—pardon my forwardness. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay. It’s actually the first time I’ve ever really prayed.”
“My timing perfect as always.”
It was wrong to apologize for praying, but she didn’t want to hurt the Bleu Notes’ chances. “It’s just me,” she said. “The band isn’t, you know, religious or anything.”
“I don’t care if they’re Hare Krishnas, as long as they show up on time and play some Billboard hits. Which, by the way, I’m serious about the tambourine. You can be as Christian as you want on the inside—it’s all about keeping people buying drinks. That is the sad little secret of the business I’m in. Something for the ears, something for the eyes.” His own eyes went up and down her yet again. “‘Why, yes, we’ll have another round.’”
“I’m sorry,” Becky said, “but I’m so hungry. I need to go eat something.”
Gig peeled back an apricot leather sleeve and exposed an enormous watch. “Not sure we quite have time for dinner, but there’s bound to be something salty at the tavern.”
“The band is really excited that you’re here, I—I’ll see you later, okay?”
She ran away, actually ran, for fear of being pursued. At New Prospect Township, one little flick of her disdain was enough to drive away aggressive boys, and at the Grove, whenever an older man tried to flirt with her, she frostily asked him for his order. If she ended up with Tanner, despite her new willingness to renounce him, she would be entering a world of older men, men like Gig. If only to help Tanner professionally, she would need to learn to play the game. It was disturbing to think that her looks might be of use to him. When she saw people flirting, she saw people who wanted to have sex, and sex still seemed more than gross to her; it seemed—wrong. In the light of her religious experience, it seemed even wronger. Sweet though Tanner was, there was little doubt that he had sex with Laura. Maybe it really would be better to leave them to it and simply be his friend.
Halfway down the church’s central staircase was a landing that led to the rear parking lot. Outside the glass door, someone in a peacoat was smoking a cigarette in the snow. With a lurch in her heart, she saw that it was Clem.
She hesitated on the landing. Catching sight of Clem usually brought a rush of happiness, but the feeling she had now was the opposite of happy. His new peacoat reminded her of the walk they’d taken at Thanksgiving, his boasting about sex with his college girlfriend, but it was more than that. She was afraid of his judgment. She’d smoked marijuana, and, worse yet, she’d been praying. He was so contemptuous of religion, he would make her ashamed of finding God.
Worried that he’d come to the church specifically to see her, she continued down the stairs. She thought she was in the clear, but the door behind her clanked open, and Clem called her name. She looked back guiltily. “Oh, hey.”
“Hi, hi, hi,” he said, running down to her.
His peacoat, when he hugged her, smelled of winter air and cigarettes, and he wouldn’t let go. She had to squirm to extricate herself.
“Where have you been?” he accused. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“I was just … I’m getting something to eat.”
She started down the corridor to the function hall.
“Wait,” Clem said, grabbing her arm. “We need to talk. There’s stuff I have to tell you.”
She yanked her arm away. “I’m really hungry.”
“Becky—”
“I’m sorry, okay? I need food.”
The function hall was much hotter than the corridor. Raising her arms to make herself narrower, she entered a humid thicket of dark bodies. Hands were clapping to the beat of Biff Allard and his congas, and Gig was right: he looked like Donny Osmond. The crowd was so large that it pressed against the food tables in the back. Becky went around behind them, pursued by Clem. The first table was nearly depleted, but there was still a respectable wedge of Bundt cake, spangled with red and green cherries. She took out her pocketbook, paid for a slice, and retreated to the back wall to eat it.
“Where have you been?” Clem shouted.
Her mouth full, she waved a limp hand. Clem was practically thrashing with impatience. She was relieved to see Kim Perkins and David Goya coming their way.
“There you are,” Kim shouted. “You had us worried.”
“I’m fine.”
Kim reached for a fragment of Bundt cake, and Becky raised the paper plate above her head. Kim made a jumping pass at it.
“Down, girl,” David shouted.
From the stage came a thunderous coda, every instrument at full volume. The hall erupted in applause.
“Thank you,” Biff Allard shouted. “We’ve still got one act coming, our own Tanner Evans and Laura Dobrinsky, with the one and only Bleu Notes, so stick around! Good night!”
The hall lights came up. Becky ate the last bite of cake feeling more famished, not less.
“I should have warned you,” David said to her. “That shit is pretty killer. They grow it indoors in Montreal.” He patted her arm, as if to make sure she really was intact, and nodded to Clem. “Thanks for finding her.”
Clem was watching them with a demented kind of fixity, his face haggard.
“I need more food,” she said.
“Somebody has the munchies,” Kim said.
A woman on a mission, Becky marched over to the other food table. In the middle of it, as in a holy vision, sat two-thirds of a loaf of cheese-and-chive bread.
“Can I have, like, all of that?” she asked the sophomore boy taking money.
“Sure. Buck-fifty?”
This was too little, but she didn’t offer more. When she turned away from the table, clutching the bread like a squirrel, Kim was there to grab at it.