No Team To Root For (1)
BOOK ONE BARRETT I Barrett Jessop spent his time at home in what he referred to as his personal retreat. It was the only finished part of a huge empty basement. The twelve by fifteen room had one large easy chair, an eleven-hundred dollar compact stereo system, and a twenty-four inch color TV --- all lighted by a track lighting unit that he installed himself. And Barrett chose to spend his time alone, never equating being alone with loneliness. In his mind, when he was not fantasizing about Aruba or Maui, he created his own private world. It would have all of the conveniences that the real world had, only he would be the only person in it. Barrett knew that Janet, contrarily, had a problem with solitude, needing people around her constantly. Why else did she do so much volunteer work and play canasta five nights a week? Barrett's retreat was always a little bit cluttered. Rather, it had a 'lived-in' quality, not 'sterile' like the rest of the house. The eye doctor got up from his easy chair to look for an old Charlie Parker LP. His joints seemed stiffer than usual. Fifty-four years old and falling apart. Goddamn old age anyway! Rummag-ing through his LP collection, he found the album he wanted. It was one that The Bird recorded live at the Algonquin Hotel in New York in 1947. He always loved good music. And after he attended the Newport Jazz Festival in 1976, he was hooked for life. He found the music there more exhilarating than any he had ever heard and the performers the epitome of excitement. Just then the phone rang. By the time Barrett picked it up, Janet was on the line talking to her parents in California. "So, Janet." Her mother spoke softly. "How are you feeling?" "Fine." Barrett thought Janet's voice sounded mechanical. "Do you need anything?" her father asked. "No." Another one word answer from Janet. "Aunt Millie was over last night.� her mother said. "She's feeling much better." "That's good, Mom. I'm glad." Barrett heard enough of the conversation. He found it boring and totally void of emotion. The call would easily last one hour and Barrett's name would never come up. He carefully laid the receiver back on its cradle and put his record on the turntable. Barrett closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the music, but instead his thoughts took him back six years to when he was single ( and he thought a confirmed bachelor ) and his wife was a new laboratory rep for Carter Optical. Janet Stevens was looking for a husband and so Barrett Jessop made himself available. At the time it seemed like the right decision! Barrett was raised Jewish, Janet Catholic. When Barrett was a junior at OSU, he renounced his Judaism. He had always believed in a supreme being but did not feel the need for any organized relig-ion. But Barrett made it a point not to let his beliefs --- or lack of beliefs interfere in his relationship with his parents. His mother vowed not to lose her only son over the matter, and remained close to Barrett to her dying day. His father, on the other hand, acted as if Barrett no longer existed, and unlike his wife, died without ever resolving the issue. Religion was never important to Janet either, so to her, marrying out of her faith wasn't a problem. Her parents, however, didn't see it that way. When she told them she was going to marry not only a non-Catholic, but an agnostic as well, they said they wanted no more to do with her and under no circumstances would they attend the wedding. They remained true to their word, and when Janet and Barrett were married, only his mother was in attendance. For four and a half years there was no contact between Janet and her parents, until one day her younger sister, Marla, ran off with the lead singer in an all black calypso band. Barrett angrily accepted the fact that Janet's parents now felt a white non-Catholic was better than a black non-Catholic, suddenly making Barrett more acceptable. And since Marla's whereabouts were never ascertained, Janet's parents made their peace with the couple. Barrett's daydreaming was interrupted by an irritating scratchy sound. The record was finished, and Barrett had not heard even the first note. He put the LP on again. This time he'd listen to both sides. By then Janet would have left for her canasta game. He'd go to bed early, and if he timed it right, he would be sound asleep by the time she came home. Instead of taking his usual direct route home, Barrett decided to drive around the town of Patton. The ride was bumpier and several miles out of the way, but the view would be lovelier, the drive would be more relaxing, and there would be no traffic to fight. He waved at eighty year old Marvel Houser and eighty-four year old Mabel Houser, the towns spinster sisters, sitting on their porch swing with their fat asses smashed up against each other, each hold-ing a can of beer. And he laughed at old Arlo Sedgewick chasing his dachshund around the tall oak tree in his front yard. Definitely the ugliest fucking dog in the world! His only complaint was having to wait for a train to pass because of a poorly timed train schedule. It added an extra ten minutes to his ride, but it was something he had to deal with at least once a week. During the brief interval, he took two brochures on Maui and Aruba from the glove compartment and stuck them in his shirt pocket. He would look at them later. The train finally passed and he drove off. The majority of the houses he drove by were sixty or seventy years old. Many had large screened in porches with at least one hanging swing. They were constructed of either white frame or red brick. The brick homes had ivy climbing on almost every wall, giv-ing them a mature and rustic appearance. People from other towns called Patton, Ohio 'quaint'. The houses were all beautifully landscaped and surrounded by a wealth of greenery. The many oak and maple trees were pruned with precision and cared for regularly by their landowners. Inter-spersed with the trees and neatly clipped shrubs were vast flower-beds of geraniums, gladiolas, and petunias --- bordered by scores of rosebushes. To drive through any part of Patton would have to be a horticul-turist's delight. "Breathe in --- exhale! Breathe in --- exhale!" Barrett Jessop, driving very slowly, was determined to relax and to enjoy the al-most perfect weather. The leaves were changing to various shades of red, all under a flawless blue sky. The endless cornfields were a wondrous maze of yellows and greens, brilliantly highlighted by the sun. And accord-ing to Tom Brewer, the weatherman on channel five, everything would stay this way for six or seven more days. Barrett pulled off to the side of the narrow dirt road and parked next to a weathered fence constructed of what appeared to be giant Lincoln logs. He tried to become totally absorbed by the beauty and the majesty of nature: the never ending cornfields; the peacefully grazing cattle; and the cool, crisp fresh air. Barrett wanted to stay forever on this lonely and secluded dirt road quietly basking. But his moment of bliss would be brief. He had to get back to the uncertainty and ugliness of his real world --- his marriage. A mar-riage now devoted to long periods of silence or a series of conflicts. A marriage responsible for his spontaneous and ill-timed flare-ups over minor and insignificant details, causing him a great deal of stress and embarrassment. How was it possible to both love and hate someone at the same time? Someone so caustic it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Someone so obsessive and compulsively neat that Barrett often felt like a visitor in his own home. Someone so indifferent that any discussion about their feelings for each other was out of the question. So with all of the turmoil raging inside his head, he took one final look at his peaceful surroundings, reluctantly got into his car and headed for home. * Barrett pulled into the circular driveway of his lavish three-thousand square foot stone and stucco colonial ranch, stopping the car, but keeping the engine running as he listened to NPR, his favorite news source. The analysts were well-versed, the news was comprehensive, and there were no tasteless commercials to annoy him. He became so involved with Daniel Schorr's mid-east commen-tary that when he finally looked at the clock, he was astounded to discover he was an hour late. He knew this would lead to another unavoidable confrontation. Barrett hurried to the front door. Janet was scouring the sink and had her back to him when he came into the kitchen. "I told you I had to help out at the church li-brary. You knew the plumber was coming." Janet turned. They were face to face. "Well, the plumber has come and gone. And now thanks to you, I will be late!" Janet didn't yell. She didn't have to. "I stopped at --- I was listening to --- I'm sorry --- " "You're sorry?" Janet took a step toward her husband, stopping abruptly when she saw a brochure on Aruba sticking out of his shirt pocket. "Planning a trip?" "What? Oh --- " Damn it! Barrett clumsily took the brochure out of his pocket. "Well. Are you?" Janet came a step closer. "Am I --- " Barrett felt himself begin to stammer. "Planning a trip." Janet finished her husband's sentence. "No. I was just --- " The brochure fell out of his hand and onto the floor. "You were just --- what?" Janet's eyes narrowed. She ignored the paper on the floor. Her focus was solely on Barrett. "Nothing, Janet. Nothing!" Here we go again! Barrett picked up the pamphlet and put it into his pants pocket. "You were planning a trip. And you were planning it alone. Right?" "Ye --- no. That's not true!" He felt himself begin to stammer again. "Really!" Janet's tone remained caustic. Barrett turned away. He wanted no more eye contact. "Look," he spoke to the wall cabinet. "you never want to go anywhere with me anymore, so I decided --- " "So you decided to go it alone." "Well --- I guess so." Barrett took a step back. "You guess so!" she echoed. "Yes." "I see." Janet turned back to the sink and resumed her scouring. "I have asked you numerous times to sit down with me and --- talk." "About what?" she asked casually. "Things --- " Barrett could feel his palms begin to sweat. "What things?" She squeezed the water out of the dishrag and turned off the faucet. "Well --- our marriage --- or what's left of it." He spoke angrily. "You keep bringing this up." She uncharacteristically threw the rag into the sink and turned back to her husband. "There is nothing to discuss." "There is everything to discuss." Barrett's anger continued to mount. "I don't see it that way." Janet smirked. "I am --- satisfied." "You're satisfied?" Barrett could feel her breath on his face. "How can you make such a statement?" "Barrett, I don't have time for this crap. There is nothing wrong with our marriage." Now she raised her voice. "It's you. You're the problem!" "It's me?" Barrett was astonished. "Yes, Barrett. It's you!" "Okay, Janet." Barrett raised his voice to match his wife's. "You are right --- as usual!" "You bet I'm right!" And with that, Janet turned back to the sink and began to clean the countertop. "Look, damnit! I refused to be sucked into another fight." But he knew it was too late. "I said I refuse to --- " "I heard what you said." Janet spoke with her back to him. "Bar-rett. You're a schmuck!" There was a long silence before he spoke. And he spoke softly. "I know you don't like to talk about it, but I still think if we would have had children --- " "You're right, Barrett. I don't. So let's just drop it, okay?" Janet rinsed out the rag some more. "I told you. There is nothing to dis-cuss!" There was another long silence. And again Barrett spoke softly. "There was a time we did love each other." Janet smoothed out the rag and laid it neatly over the faucet. Then she spun around. "I never loved you! I enjoyed the sex. But like a virus, it ran its course." "I don't believe you." Barrett could feel his palms sweat again. "I think deep down you do love me." Janet stared at her husband for a couple of seconds then shook her head slowly. "Barrett, you're living in a cave." She spoke smugly. "I told you, this marriage works for me --- just the way it is!" "Is that a fact?" She's right. I am a schmuck! Only a schmuck would take this shit! "Yes! Because I've got the best of both worlds." And again she smirked. "Meaning what?" asked Barrett. "Go back to your --- 'cave', and figure it out." She turned back to the sink and continued to clean. Barrett did not have to figure it out. She had a home life, which for her, was obviously adequate. And she had her own personal life coming and going whenever she wanted. And she answered to no one. She was right. She did have the best of both worlds. Janet had it made! The more he thought about it, the madder he got. "I'm warning you, Janet. I'm --- " "Warning me?" She turned to him, her eyes ablaze. "Warning me about what?" "About --- about --- nothing." Barrett was flustered. "Just --- nothing, Janet. Nothing!" Enraged, he stormed up the stairs. Half-way up, Janet's words stopped him. "I made you lunch. Don't ask me why." "You what?" Anger was mixed with confusion. "And it was ready one hour ago." she added matter-of-factly. "You made me --- lunch?" "It's on the table." Janet turned back to the countertop. "And I guarantee you it's ice cold!" Barrett went upstairs to change clothes, angry and confused, wondering why Janet, who had no desire to save a dying marriage, would make her husband lunch! But then again, Janet did a lot of things that Barrett felt made no sense. She would vacuum the same room twice in one day. She would clean and sanitize a spotless bathroom. She would line up furniture so that each piece was equi-distant from the wall. His brief reverie was interrupted as he heard the door open and then close. She had gone out. Thank God! Barrett made himself a mental note to put his pamphlets on Aruba and Maui someplace where only he would know their whereabouts. After showering and changing, he walked cautiously down the stairs, stopping on every step to listen. He was taking no chances on being trapped into another battle. When he got to the bottom step, he stopped abruptly and stared. The spaghetti and meatballs --- compliments of Chef Boyardee, was on the table with everything set in its proper place. The fork was on the left and the knife and spoon were on the right. The napkin emerged from the center of a wine glass. It was all more befitting a fancy French restaurant than a simple small town kitchen! The only thing missing was ketchup. Janet never used it, so she never put it on the table. When Barrett opened the pantry door, all the cans and jars were lined up neatly on each shelf according to size and content. Un-fucking believable! Everything is so Goddamn perfect! He grabbed the ketchup bottle from the bottom left, since Janet put the tall bottles on the bottom and the dark colored condiments on the left. Barrett finally sat down to eat, feeling guilty about disturbing the table setting, but too tired and too hungry to care. And he had to admit to himself that Janet was right about one thing. The lunch was definitely ice cold! * I I It was a gloomy Sunday in late October, 1987. The sky had a dull, ominous gray color and the wind was unusually still. Barrett Jessop had slept past eleven and Janet was still asleep, snoring softly. He turned on to his side and totally in awe, watched his wife. Even when she was asleep, thought Barrett, she was the epitome of neatness! Her blanket and sheet were tucked in straight and smooth, while Barrett's bed was a disaster. Nothing was tucked in and most of the sheet and blanket was on the floor. He got up and quietly made the bed as best he could, knowing that Janet would re-make it as soon as she awoke. The bed was Barrett's, but the room belonged to Janet. Barrett then methodically went through his morning routine. First he would sit on the edge of the bed and stare into space. Then he would scratch his head. Then he would scratch his stomach and re-turn to his vacant gaze. After which, he would shower, shave, dress, and have a toasted bagel with a pinch of margarine and cof-fee --- black. All of this took Barrett twenty-two minutes. He had it down to a science! As he was leaving the kitchen, the telephone rang. It was Darrell Saltz, the local sheriff. Barrett had known him for as long as he had been in Patton. He considered him only an acquaintance. "Hello, Doc." Darrell didn't wait for a response. "Listen, I de-cided to have a few guys over this afternoon to watch the Browns-Steelers game. Think you can make it?" Normally Barrett would have refused, but his life was in a rut as of late, not having been anywhere except to the office, and he saw this as a diversion from an otherwise boring routine. "Sure, Darrell. What time?" *
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