Anthropology of an American Girl: A Novel - By Hilary Thayer Hamann Page 0,213

breaks from the television to acknowledge Rob, then heads out from behind the bar to flip the toggle by the front door. The machine in the transom sputters to life and starts to spit through its grubby vents.

Rob makes a squeaking noise with the side of his mouth, and stares at the ceiling. He looks like Reverend Olcott the time we talked about God. Like he has a whole reserve of information but is afraid to release it too fast in case it overwhelms me. And yet, he knows I want the truth, and he wants to be truthful. I see him take a walk through the conversation a couple of times, weighing the dangers of honesty against the opportunity for personal gain. He hates Mark. There may not be another chance like this one.

“Okay. So, Diane’s two years younger than the rest of us. When we graduate back in ’77, me and Harrison stick around L.A., doing our thing. He fights, I do grad school for accounting, Chris DeMarco comes back east to NYU Law, and Mark heads to Harvard, not breaking off with Diane. He doesn’t want to keep her, but he doesn’t want to lose her. He prefers to string her along. It’s one of those things assholes do. He met his match in her, though. There’s no bigger asshole than Diane. Right off she demands attention from a distance; she doesn’t waste a minute. She hooks up with a bad crowd—booze and coke mostly but, like, a lot of coke. Several grams per week is my gentlemanly estimate. UCLA puts her on probation, her parents threaten to cut off the cash and ship her off to some Minnesota rehab—but she just keeps going. Finally she ends up at some party in the Hills where her girlfriend drowns. Very big deal. Diane paid for the drugs. Mark is worthless, of course. He flies out with her folks for one day—one day—the day she makes the declaration to the cops. That’s it. Her parents offer to send them on a vacation. A couple weeks in Europe, the Caribbean. But Mark’s too busy with school, he claims, he can’t spare the time, et cetera, et cetera. Basically, she’s a total fucking liability, and he’s worried about his reputation. You know, he wants to run for office someday, have a seat on the Exchange, whatever—that’s why he hangs around with those addicts from Washington.”

“Because they have money?”

“Lots of people have money. They have connections. Anyway, Mark backs out; Diane calls Harrison. She’s alone, she’s scared, but basically, she’s vindictive. Of course Harrison steps in—me, I wouldn’t have bothered—and one, two, three, she’s clean. Nobody knows what he did to get through, but he got through.”

Oh, but I know. Just his eyes alone, looking at you.

“Naturally her parents are grateful. They pull some strings to get him a big shot agent who right off the bat hits him with decent stuff. Bit parts, but decent—commercials, voice-overs, print, extra work in TV, in a couple of movies—but it turns out to be a deal with the devil. Harrison is under obligation now to Diane and this agent—Eliot something, from William Morris. Of course, the agent wants him to quit fighting, and behind Harrison’s back goes head-to-head a couple times with the trainer out there, Charles Lopez, Chucho Lopez, who happens to be connected himself, and who’s counter-pressuring Harrison to get serious, get management, and start the climb for a title. He’d been fighting for years by then, and he’d established an unbelievable record. But it’s a tough climb; it takes focus. Maybe Harrison has it in him, maybe not. I don’t know if you realize the kind of money that’s at stake.”

I shake my head.

“Could be millions. Could be many millions. I’ve been to houses that would make that Gin Lane place look like a trailer. And the owner will be some twenty-five-year-old living with twelve friends, eight Mercedes, and a basketball court off the kitchen. Harrison is smart, mature, and—whatever.” Rob tosses up his hand like it’s a lost cause. “Anyway, that agent Eliot gets his tires slashed and other unsavory shit I don’t care to get into, and in the middle of it all, we can’t shake Diane. She’s showing up at the fights, hanging around the gym. Every day she’s at the fucking gym. Once she got her teeth in, she infected everything, like a rabid dog.”

“Were you guys planning to stay in L.A.?”

“We had no plan.”

“Did he want