“Carl hurrying?” he said. “I’ve never seen that before.”
That’s where Benny ended the story. But we sensed there was more to it. So at lunch hour, finding Carl’s door open for the first time in eons, a few of us went in. He was at his desk eating a low-cal Subway sandwich and drinking a diet iced tea. It was astonishing. We asked him for his version of events.
“I had completely forgotten about his crush on Marcia,” he told us, sitting back in his chair, “and I had just called her crappy-looking. What an idiot. So I told him, I said, ‘Benny, I’m sorry if I offended you back there.’ But he just shrugged it off. ‘You didn’t offend me,’ he said. ‘You offended Marcia, I think, but not me.’ So I said, ‘I completely forgot about your crush, man, I’m sorry.’ And he said, ‘My what?’”
It didn’t take long before Benny was spilling his guts down by the lake, which was only a few blocks east of us. The two men climbed over the breakers and stood at the edge of the runners’ path that dropped off into the water, where Benny admitted to Carl a love for Marcia that he called paralyzing. It was taking away his nights, he said. It was starting to hurt just seeing her in the halls. Sitting across from her in a meeting, that was torture. And coming upon her alone in the kitchen took his speech away. “And you know me,” he said to Carl. “I never lack for something to say. But now, I’m starting not to enjoy this.” “So what are you going to do about it?” asked Carl. Benny said what he always said, the same thing he had said to all of us: his love for Marcia was complicated because Marcia was not Jewish, and it was important to him — for reasons heathens like us couldn’t understand — that he marry a Jew. Stores a totem pole for three-nineteen a month and calls us heathens — that was rich, we thought. And what’s more, everyone knew it was just an excuse in case Marcia found out about the crush and didn’t like him back.
Benny’s crush wasn’t news. He had told each and every one of us about it at one point or another, and in great detail. The news wasn’t even Marcia’s haircut. Marcia had finally crawled her way out of her Megadeth-and-Marlboros origins and staggered into the fashionable reality of a new century, and her looks had improved for it. She was no longer reliving the smoke-and-screw glory days of George Washington High. Her haircut was a jump up in three income levels, it was a move to Paris, it was the opening of some seventh seal on the South Side, and if Benny’s encounters with her in the hall had smarted before, he was in for a world of hurt now.
Carl leaving the car without a kiss good-bye, that was interesting, too. Carl engaged with the world — when did that happen? After stealing Janine’s drugs, overdosing, poisoning himself into the hospital, and being released under a psychiatrist’s supervision, Carl had gone from reproachful insolence to mild indifference. But when did he go from indifference to galloping and gossiping and chasing after Benny? Had we been forced to lay down odds, all our money would have been on the unlikely haircut long before Carl leaving the car without a kiss from Marilynn.
But that wasn’t the news.
The news was delivered by Joe Pope, who came by Benny’s office to announce that in a few days, we would start work on two important new business pitches. A beverage company was about to launch their first caffeinated bottled water, and a popular brand of running shoe had seen their market share dip over the previous few years. Both were looking for new agencies and had graciously invited us to pitch them ideas. The next step was to present them with creative that would bowl them over. Joe didn’t have to tell us how important winning new business was, but he did anyway. “So we need to clear our plates of this pro bono project as quickly as possible,” he said. “You’ll be presenting concepts on what makes a breast cancer patient laugh first thing in the morning.”
“As in tomorrow morning?” said Benny. “I thought we had till next week.”
“Priorities have changed,” said Joe. “Now it’s tomorrow morning.”
“Christ, Joe,” said Larry. “You serious?”
It was like a fire alarm we weren’t even getting paid for.
“Is she in today?” asked Amber Ludwig. Her tone of voice and downcast eyes might have indicated she was inquiring of someone trying to pull out of critical condition.
“Is who in?” replied Joe. He knew who she meant. We all knew.
“Listen,” he said, moving more fully into Benny’s office. “Does anyone have anything to show her?”
Ordinarily we would have taken this question, coming from Joe, as a kind of accusation. But the reality was that no one had a thing, and so what was the point of dissembling? We just sort of stared at him.
“I don’t have anything, either,” he admitted. “Not a damn thing, and I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
It was good to hear that even he was struggling. He went on to offer us a few modest strategies he had come up with, general directions we might consider, which was kind of him. But that still didn’t help cushion the blow of his bad news, and in the end it didn’t get us any closer to figuring out what was funny about breast cancer.
GENEVIEVE WAS AT HER DESK, reading the breast cancer companion guide that had absorbed her attention yesterday evening after she’d finished the survivor’s memoir, when Amber came to her doorway. Genevieve put the book down and moved her blond hair behind an ear. “What’s up?” she said. Amber walked in and sat down, tucking one of her thick legs under the thigh of the other. “You don’t know about Karen’s phone call to the hospital yesterday, do you?” Genevieve shook her head and took a sip of her diet pop. She had not been with us during the call. “Then let me fill you in,” said Amber.
Amber spoke. Both women turned to look at Larry in the doorway when he appeared in his Cubs cap, popping M&M’s into his mouth one at a time. Amber turned back to Genevieve and continued talking while Larry moved inside and stood directly behind her.
“And remind her of her fear,” he said, interrupting. Larry had been convinced by Karen’s call to the hospital that Lynn’s cancer wasn’t a rumor after all.
Amber ignored him for the moment, but eventually came around to his point — Lynn’s aversion to hospitals. It would be extremely hard for someone in the grip of a fear of hospitals to willingly admit herself to one.
Benny Shassburger came to the doorway and in a low voice said, “Are you guys talking about Lynn?” Genevieve nodded, and Benny, his khakis rustling, moved through the office to the back credenza, where he placed a haunch on the sharp wood corner. “Here’s what I keep coming back to,” he said. And he went on to remind her that the pro bono ads, which concerned themselves with breast cancer awareness, arrived at the same time that she was going into the hospital. “Was that just a coincidence?” he asked.