Hope Idiotic | Part 32
Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.
MELVIN WAS ON THE SELF-RIGHTEOUS WARPATH. At his and Chuck’s morning meeting, he dumped nearly a dozen surprise projects for us with deadlines set at week’s end. It was Wednesday. And rather than let Chuck get to work on hitting those deadlines, Melvin dragged him to seven different other meetings that had nothing to do with anything Chuck had on his plate.
“Is there any reason I have to be in these?” he asked Melvin.
“I would like for you to get an understanding for what happens at a higher level within the organization.”
What Chuck already knew, and could now confirm, was that what happened at that higher level within the organization was jack shit.
The next day, Chuck hunkered down in his office and burned through as much of the work as he could. By the afternoon, he was confident that he might get everything done by tomorrow. He would have worked later into the night, but his brain was mush, and there was an alumni event at the university that he’d been looking forward to. It started at 6 p.m. On his drive to campus, Lexi called.
“How was your day?” she said. “Did Melvin let you get any work done?”
“Not the best day, but he mostly left me alone. I’m exhausted. I’ll tell you more about it later.”
“Okay. I’m going to stay at my place tonight. Have fun at the alumni thing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
“Love you.”
“Love you.”
✶
THE ALUMNI EVENT WAS TO RAISE MONEY FOR THE COLLEGE OF COMMUNICATIONS. A few old acquaintances Chuck knew from his Reporter days were there. They were former student government people who, while in school, were friendly enemies. However, since graduating and getting involved with the alumni organization, any bad blood had dissipated, although the barbs between the former student senators, presidents and the former newspaper editor were still rife. Chuck was having a good time.
Wine was served. Chuck had a glass. Then he had another. Then another. By the end of the evening, all the young alumni were pleasantly soused.
Greg Khatri was the Richard Nixon of student body presidents back then while Chuck was at the paper. This guy took his politics extremely seriously and had gone on to manage several republican state senatorial campaigns. He told Chuck that he was moving to Washington, D.C. early next year to become a lobbyist for Texas Oil Corp. “Taking the fast track to shilling for Satan,” Chuck told him.
“Come on, Keller,” Greg said. “We’re all going to head over to Barreled Fish for a few. You should come with us, just don’t write anything down for Liberty.”
“Christ, I haven’t written anything down for Liberty in ages.”
“Perfect, then you’ll come.”
“I better not. It’s late.”
“It’s barely past 10.”
“I haven’t been home all day.”
“One drink.”
Chuck looked at his cell phone. There was a text from Lou: Goddammit. This condo. Why am I a visitor here? “One drink,” he said.
On their way out, Chuck swiped an open bottle of red wine before the catering people could clean it up.
“We’re going to a bar,” Greg said. “It’s not BYOB.”
“You never know.
Chuck did only stay for one drink. He got in his car and set the wine bottle to rest on top of the cup holder. He pulled his phone out and texted Lou.
I have life
He dropped the phone into his lap and started the car. He looked at the phone again and typed another message.
I mean, i hate life. Figure it out tomorrow
He took a swig of wine, put the car in reverse and headed to the house.
As he pulled into the garage, “Wonderwall” by Oasis came on the radio. “Fucking great song,” he said to himself. He cranked the radio so that the music was slightly distorted from the tinny car speakers vibrating in their door casings. The rear window danced in time to the reverberating sound. Chuck put the car in park and sang along. He hit the garage-door remote that was clipped to the visor, and the door lowered behind him. The song’s almost over. I’ll go to bed then, he thought. He sang as loud as he could, emoting with arm gestures and drumming the steering wheel. By the end of the song where the piano comes in, Chuck was beginning to pass out.
The radio station cut to commercials.
