stand by the door and wait. As he stands there — smelling stale cigarette smoke, or stale toast, or stale sweat, or stale macaroni and cheese — he wonders if this is yet another stage in the process of being brought up through the ranks of Goldfinger’s — another tier on the hierarchical ladder.
During their time together on the highway, Ivor regales Rank with stories of his life (mostly to do with avoiding the rabidly obsessive efforts of the U.S. government to infect him with HIV) and attempts to impart to his younger cohort the occasional snippet of wisdom courtesy of Hard-Knocks High.
And, yes, more often than not the wisdom amounts to: Don’t trust the U.S. government because it wants to give everyone AIDS. But every once in a while, when they’ve been driving a bit longer than usual and the road has become a hypnotically undulating grey ribbon, Ivor’s one-track mind slows down a little and even wanders far enough afield to allow him to talk about his life. A time before the Nixon administration’s diabolical plan to eradicate the black, gay and scummy had begun to take hold; a more innocent time.
Ivor grew up only a few miles down the river and even though his entire family are alive and live nearby, the only one he sometimes talks to on the phone is his sister Dini. He isn’t able to go visit Dini because Dini’s husband is an asshole who has never forgiven Ivor for breaking into their basement eight years ago to sleep off a binge and not paying to replace the window. Ivor argued that he had no memory of doing it, so the husband couldn’t even prove he had. And the husband said he’d walked into the basement and Ivor had been sprawled beside the furnace in his long-johns and what more evidence did anybody need?
“But my point, Rank,” explains Ivor, “the point I tried to make at the time was this. I am a man with a substance abuse problem. I will always have that hanging over me. There’s nothing I can do about it — it’s my cross to bear is what I’m saying. What I need is the compassion and understanding of my family. And I have never had that, Rank.”
“That sucks, man,” commiserates Rank.
“I never got that from anyone in my family except Dini.”
“She sounds nice,” says Rank. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters myself.”
“Well they can be a blessing,” says Ivor. “My family isn’t scummy like me, you know. I’m what you call the black sheep. My dad did a pretty good business selling Kawasaki bikes and ATVs and whathaveyou and he had this idea all his kids would go to college — first crop a scholars in his family history. But I kept fucking up at school. I had my own bike, so, you know, I was the king. I was Captain Motorcycle. Just wanted to fuck off and get high. Figured I was untouchable. Didn’t graduate.”
Rank tries to glance over and take account of Ivor without being too obvious about it. He has no idea how old the guy is. Ivor is balding, and greying, with a ponytail, but his face is as smooth as a baby’s.
“You could always go back,” suggests Rank.
“No, I can’t go back to school Rank. I’m not a school guy.”
“Hey, I never thought I was a school guy,” says Rank. “And look at me.”
“Yeah, but you are, Rank, whether you think it or not. Whereas I got a few years on you and I know. I know what I’m not. I know what you are. You keep doing what you’re doing — I’ve known a lotta good kids like you who have done the same. Make your money offa Rich. Rich won’t screw you over and he won’t get all pissy when you tell him it’s time for you to go find a real job. He’s used to it. Meanwhile, you and he got a mutually beneficial relationship going. Pay for school and then get the fuck out of here.”
Rank bounces along the highway beside Ivor feeling surprised. Let me talk to Rich. It never occurred to Rank before that Ivor might be concerned with anybody’s well-being other than Richard’s.
It is almost sweet.
“Hey,” says Rank after a couple of minutes. “I just wanna say thanks for setting this up for me and everything, man.”
“Pay for school,” repeats Ivor, “and get out of here.”
Before dropping Rank off back at the dorm, Ivor hands