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| Chapter 8 |
| The Prius had turned onto White Oak Avenue when Joe's stomach gurgled noticeably. The audible complaint was immediately followed by a lengthy thunderstorm in his belly. Joe slapped his palms on his stomach in an attempt to dampen the noise. "Goodness," Nonnie exclaimed. "It sounds like you have the Weather Channel in there." "Just an empty stomach," Joe replied with embarrassment. "I forgot that I haven't eaten in� twelve? Thirteen? Thirteen hours." Nonnie looked at Joe with some concern. "Then why don't we stop someplace for breakfast? There are dozens of restaurants on Ventura Boulevard." "Oh no," Joe said humbly. "I don't want to hold you up. You've got to start working on my neighbors' case, and I� have to�" "You have to do what?" "Uh, I, uh, I have to talk to Carl, and should probably go looking for my wife if I don't hear back from her soon." "It sounds like a 20 minute stop for fuel isn't going to ruin your day," Nonnie gently admonished. Joe's tummy growled in displeasure with greater volume. "And it would save me from going deaf," Nonnie added. "But Nonnie-" "What good are you to your neighbors if you starve to death on me?" "Okay, okay," Joe hesitantly agreed. Nonnie parked the Prius next to the pristine Waldo's restaurant. Beulah, the hostess, led them past the dozens of occupied blonde wood squares and rectangles to a cozy circle in the darkest corner. Joe studied the menu intensely. "First time in a Waldo's?" Nonnie asked. "Yeah," Joe admitted. "I don't eat out much. This place seems nice." With its high ceiling, track lighting, soft adult contemporary music, and lack of booths along the walls, the atmosphere appeared better suited for a furniture showroom. Nonnie leaned over and whispered, "I feel like I should be browsing for mattresses or furniture here." Joe's eyebrows leapt. "That's just what I was thinking! I guess they're going for a safe-and-familiar mystique." Nonnie laughed loudly. "Mystique! That's great. Speaking of mystique, I'm curious- Why do you care so much about your neighbors that you're willing to spend your own money on their defense?" "Two reasons," Joe said as he folded his menu. "First, I love my neighbors. Greatest neighbors in the world. All of them. Not a stinker in the bunch. Second, I live by the golden rule. If our situations were reversed, I don't think I could make it without someone looking out for me, trying to get me out." Their tall, thin server, Ernesto, approached the table and scratched their orders- sliced fruit, hash browns, sourdough toast and juice for Joe, an English muffin and hot tea for Nonnie. With a quick nod, Ernesto diligently departed to the kitchen. "It's very unusual that you know all of your neighbors," Nonnie said. "Nah. Enid and I have lived in our house for over 30 years. About a third of our neighbors were living on Hesperia Avenue back then. Gladys, Ronny, Denise, Sonia, Kyle, Arthur- Sorry. You've seen the list. Anyway, they'd buy candy or magazine subscriptions from our kids, we'd trade desserts at Christmas and Hanukkah. We get to know new neighbors when we're all out on the street watching fireworks from Cal State Northridge on July 4th, or when Enid and I go around and get signatures for petitions. Nothing unusual about that." "Thirty years ago, that wasn't unusual. But this is the 'Bowling Alone' age." "Right! Right. Robert Putnam's social thesis. Scariest book I ever read." "Why is it the scariest?" Joe's eyes ballooned. "Major decreases in social interaction? People staying in their homes instead of joining clubs or talking to other people? People not having dinner together? People not seeing family members as often? Of course that all leads to fewer people being concerned about the outside world, fewer people organizing, fewer people protesting, fewer people working for positive change. Whew! I don't wanna live in that world." "But aren't we in that world?" "Not yet. Hopefully not ever." Joe exhaled. "Lots of my students are active in student government, they're in clubs, they're in organized sports, and some of them even follow politics and protest or start petitions when they get outraged. Of course, it's not as many students as when I started teaching over 30 years ago, but it's still a healthy number." "Percent-wise, how many would you say?" "About 50% are active. Thirty years ago, that number was around 90%. But consider that back in that time, both parents weren't working two jobs just to survive. I have students that basically act as a parent for their younger siblings, so they have to do all the cooking and housekeeping while their parents are working sixteen, seventeen hours a day. How can a person with that much additional responsibility find the time to attend a club meeting or even read a newspaper? And then, on the other hand, I have students that go home and do nothing but play videogames until bedtime. But I can't blame them for that. Their parents buy them these high-tech videogame systems instead of signing them up for music lessons or sports or computer lessons or even doing something as basic as having conversations with them to engage them on an intellectual level. At Reseda High, Coach Dingle once told me that the worst thing to ever happen to kids is videogames because they sit on a sofa for hours at a time, getting no exercise and not developing any athletic abilities." Nonnie nodded. "And people wonder why more kids in this country are obese than ever before." "Exactly," Joe said. "For a kid, physical activity and social activity are closely linked. But there are other factors to consider as well. I know kids with two working parents who stay shut in their homes because they're terrified of gangs. Luckily, there's almost no gang activity around Reseda High or in my neighborhood, but in the valley, there are pockets of intense gang activity and a teenager wearing the wrong color on the wrong street could get popped." Nonnie leaned forward. "Popped?" "Killed. So fear keeps some kids inside as well." Ernesto placed their meals before them. With another quick nod, he hurried away. Joe began eating immediately. "Some residents of my building live in fear of gangs and violence as well," Nonnie said as she buttered her English muffin. "They watch far too much local news." "Local news? What about national news? Let's not get started on that. Where's your building?" Joe managed to ask between mouthfuls of cantaloupe. "I'm sorry. I own a condo in downtown L.A. It's a couple of streets away from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and the Disney Concert Hall." Joe swallowed. "Is that a safe neighborhood, relatively speaking?" "It is, yes. But just down the hill, the area gets more� intense." Nonnie took a delicate bite of her breakfast. Joe cocked his head. "So you walk to work?" "On days when I don't have to be in court or gather depositions, yes, I do. But I'm one of the few." "Because you're not afraid, unlike your neighbors," Joe responded, completely unaware that he spoke through a mouthful of hash browns. "You're right about that. My neighbors seem to come in one of two flavors- couch potatoes or workaholics." Nonnie sighed. "Hardly anyone shows up for the tenant meetings." "But I'm guessing you do." "Yes I do. Someone has to look out for the residents and the building. I'm the unofficial legal advisor to the group, and there are times when my legal skills are needed to push building management into action." "What does management need to be pushed into doing?" Joe said before biting into his toast. "Basic services. Picking up trash outside the building. Fixing broken plumbing or wiring. Cleaning the outside of the windows." "So you threaten to sue them?" "No, because I want to keep a positive relationship with the building management. The tenant association hires an outside firm to threaten them with legal action." "After you determine if the association has a strong enough case." The lawyer conjured her marvelous smile. "You already know me too well." Joe could not divert his eyes away from those stunning lips. He realized that if he truly knew Nonnie 'too well', he wouldn't be staring at her captivating face so blatantly. Nonnie pointed at his plate. "Could I have that last slice of pineapple?" Joe squinted, as if he didn't quite understand what she was saying. He followed her perfect finger down to the ceramic circle before him. Food. That's right. He had food there. "Sure," he replied, exhaling afterward as if startled awake. He carefully pushed the slice onto Nonnie's bare plate with his fork. Nonnie asked, "What are your thoughts on the governor's race?" "What race? The Republican's as good as in," Joe answered as he pulled his plate back. "Our soon-to-be ex-governor was basically a prostitute. He changed into a mouthpiece for any organization or corporation that gave him campaign cash. He blocked any sort of budget compromise for the benefit of his johns solely to raise more money for his re-election, and that has left me and thousands of others without a job. And I say these things as a Democrat." "So you'd rather have a Republican who's anti-woman, anti-choice, anti-environment, and anti-gay rights?" Nonnie asked with alarm. "Absolutely not!" Joe's volume increased with his indignation. "But, to make matters worse, the only independent candidate that I like, Regina Benton, has very little money and couldn't get an interview with a newspaper or a TV station unless she was arrested after leading police on a freeway chase. I called to get a Benton sign for my lawn, and the volunteer I talked to said that they didn't have the money to make those." "I agree that Benton's good, but she's a little radical on economic and energy issues. That may be why she's currently polling at 4%." "Hm. Let's see." Joe held up both hands as if he was a scale. "The anti-woman, anti-choice, anti-environment, anti-gay Republican versus the pro-woman, pro-choice, pro-environment, pro-gay independent who happens to be a little radical. You know what? With the California budget held hostage, leaving me currently out of a job, and worse, with students not learning, I'd be more than happy to stomach a little radical. Wait. That made me sound like a cannibal. Didn't it?" Nonnie giggled deliciously. "So you won't vote for the governor?" "Nope. Even if he was the only candidate on the ballot. Forget it. He brings shame to the Democratic party." Nonnie kept her eyes on her plate as she cut another bite of pineapple. "It's funny you should mention that because I'm a member of the Election and Organizations Committee of the League of California Democrats." "Oh," Joe said flatly. "That's too bad." "Yes, it is. The Democrats will lose the Governor's office, unless�" "Unless what?" Nonnie lifted the fork to her mouth and sensuously embraced the fruit with her lips. Joe found her chewing to be enchanting. "Unless," she resumed, "they find a different candidate to support." A puzzled expression sprouted on Joe's face. "A different� You don't mean� You do mean�" Joe chuckled once, then again. Soon he was laughing. "So, with the election only four days away, the Democrats withdraw their support for the governor and announce a new candidate?" "You said it best," Nonnie said with a smile. "'The Republican is as good as in.' Therefore other options must be explored." "And you called Benton a radical!" Joe almost roared. "That would be like the Democrats saying, 'You know what? We made a horrible, terrible mistake. Forget the governor. We never really liked him anyway. Here's the guy you should really vote for.' Please. They would never admit failure." "Hm. Let's see." Nonnie held up both hands like a scale. "Continuing to support a candidate certain to lose versus changing to a more popular candidate and keeping the governor's office from the anti-woman, anti-choice, anti-environment, anti-gay opponent, even though the idea happens to be a little radical. You know what? I'd be more than happy to stomach a little radical, as you so eloquently put it." Joe smiled, and then inquired sincerely, "Is your completely preposterous idea even legal?" "As of yesterday, yes." "Yes!? What do you mean yes? What happened yesterday?" "The state legislature overrode the governor's veto and passed a law stating that a political party can replace a certified candidate with a different qualified candidate up to 48 hours before a statewide election," Nonnie said plainly. "Oh," Joe said flatly again. "That's too bad." Nonnie's sculpted eyebrows arched in surprise. "It is?" "For you, I mean," Joe clarified. "Now the burden is on you and your committee to find someone more popular than the governor to run as the Democratic nominee." "Throw a rock," Nonnie said, "and you'll hit one." Joe erupted with laughter. He eventually calmed down enough to say, "But don't you need the governor to drop out of the race?" "That's the last domino to fall." "And you really think it's going to happen? You really think the governor is going to say, 'You know what? I have absolutely no chance of winning, so I'm actually going to do something noble and self-sacrificing and bring my political career to a screeching halt for the good of the party.'" "He better, or I lose my bet with Carl." While Joe continued to drift on the beauty of Nonnie's cheekbones and eyes, the mention of Carl lit an indistinct fuse in his brain. Carl. The contracts. The money. Reopening the schools. His students. His neighbors. His son, Sam. His daughter, Glenda. His wife, Enid. "Joe?" "I'm sorry�" Joe glanced around the restaurant, looking to recognize something. This new gentle environment, this new intensely interesting person, seemed to construct a shelter so entertaining that his other concerns disappeared. Yet one name caused them to explode in his cranium again. "I'm done," Joe announced. "Are you done?" "Yes, I'm done," Nonnie concurred. "Let's get Ernesto over here with the bill and make for the credit union." "Fine, but let's be clear on one thing: I'm paying for breakfast." "Nonnie-" Joe shook his head. "I insist. This has been a very illuminating breakfast and I want to say thank you." Joe paused, finding it very difficult to look at anything else. "You're welcome." She was beautiful, kind, decent, concerned, caring, and dangerously distracting. 'Dear God,' Joe prayed as he followed his companion from the table to the entrance, 'Thank you for the pleasure of Nonnie's company, and by that you know I'm not alluding to anything sexual. I am not lusting after this woman, but I gotta admit it sure is difficult not to. More importantly, thank you restoring my focus. Please help me get that cashier's check for Nonnie and then get on with my day. Please help me as I work out the school contracts with Carl, and as I search for Enid. Please help Enid and my kids get in touch with me today, to let me know that they're safe and where they are. Most importantly, please keep Enid from overdosing on shopping. I'm worried that if she outdoes her frenzy from yesterday, I may have to check her into some sort of clinic. Oh, and please help Nonnie in her search to find a new Democratic candidate for governor. But you've probably been getting all sorts of prayers about the upcoming election.' |
| The Book of Je |
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| Next month - Chapter 9 - Citizen Joe? |
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