Chapter 11 chapter 2

Marian Xie drove to Prescott to run errands.During the twenty-four-hour journey, she allowed herself to smoke only one cigarette, and did not puff until she was only ten miles from her destination.There, mobile homes began to gather and fast food abounded.Smoking makes her relaxed and happy, with a sense of control and restraint, and she feels comfortable all over her body. What activities are being held in the square in front of the court.She parked the car a block away from the plaza, then turned and walked toward the plaza.The wind and the sun are beautiful, and the sun and the breeze soak the human body.One street, restricted to traffic, is lined with four rows of classic cars and stretches to the edge of the square.Trumpets are placed on the lawn, playing rock music used in the dance.

She had fifteen minutes at her disposal, so she wandered among the old cars.Many cars have canopies for connoisseurs to appreciate.It was still early, less than 11 o'clock, and there were only a dozen or so people watching.She saw a red-haired man who seemed to have known him before leaning over the hood to look, then stepping back to examine a custom Buick with a black lacquered chassis. He stood there with his elbows raised, his palms cupped, and he looked like an expert.It took a while for her to realize that he was a colleague of Nick's waste recycling company.It was another moment before she remembered that his name was Brian Glaske. The surname Glassic (Grasque) is homonymous to classic (the collective name for classic cars).

He saw her with a knowing smile on his face.Then, half a block away, he danced for a while to the slowest skinny foxtrot popular in the 1950s. About two hours later, they met for lunch in the restaurant of an old hotel down the street.The dining room was narrow and warm. She held a glass of ice water and pressed it to her face. "You're here—" he asked. "Interview. Here's a small design firm that does old house renovations and plans to open an office in Phoenix. I want to give it a try." "How's it going?" "I feel good." "Have you ever done such a job?"

"Strictly speaking, no. Before having a child, I worked as a manager in a small real estate company. After having a child, I sometimes do a part-time job." "My own office. It's my dream thing. Arrives before lunch, wanders around like a private eye. Still drunk from the night before, stubbled. Flicks through emails, then tosses them on the desk. " "Do you have stubble?" she asked. "Yes, eventually there will be. Why ask?" "I don't know. I thought the cleaner the beard was, the better it looked." "We do shave," he said.

"I feel like my office is very different from a private detective agency." "You want a well-lit, well-ventilated environment." "And thick proposals in sturdy file racks." "You want architectural models with trees." "Maybe." "There are still little people with little character on the sidewalk." "Uncharacteristic in a multiracial sense." "Excellent. Have a drink?" "Okay," she said. Brian called an old waiter who probably doubled as a porter in the lobby to serve drinks. "So, here you are—" she asked.

"Look at the cars. Last night, I saw the news of the auto show in the newspaper. I felt itchy, a bit like a middle school student." "Can't wait until the weekend." "It will be crowded. I should take a day off anyway." "You'll have to wait for lunch on weekends. Sorry. I thought you were on business." "I haven't looked at the cars yet. They deserve a closer look. What could be better than sitting here and having the wine delivered, the air conditioning set, the seats fixed?" "Is this the thing that smells?" she asked.

Of course, she smokes.She knew that as soon as a drink was ordered, his affectation would disappear without much effort.She was going to finish off the remaining cigarettes and find some more.He made her laugh a few times, and even when he wasn't trying to, he was comical.She thinks he may have kept rabbits as pets as a child, though she's not sure why she thinks that way. "You're tall, aren't you?" There was suspicion in his tone, as if she was hiding it. "Not as tall as you." "My wife is short. Have you seen her?" "I can't remember."

"She wants me to take her to New York next month. I'll have to talk to the engineers at the new landfill company that's a giant in America's trash industry." "Does Nick like this kind of work?" "Are you asking me?" he asked. "Yes, I'm asking you." "I think he likes it better than I do. I think he looks at these issues from a more pure point of view, thinking about concepts and principles. Because that's Nick's style, focusing on technology, logic, aesthetics. I always get rid of Not the mentality of the Anglo-Americans."

"You're moving into a new corporate headquarters, which may help project a new self-image." "Exactly. A grand bronze-colored tower, like the headquarters of an investment company or a giant media company. Of course, the tower structure resembles a dung block. But it fits the nature of our company's business, doesn't it?" The old waiter brought the wine, and the two looked at the menu in the almost empty restaurant.They talked, looked at the menu, didn't look at it - and forgot about it.Marianne took a swig of her gin and wondered: what was it about Brian who made him so easy to talk to?Most of the time, she felt, he gave the impression of being discreet, yet, with women—with some women, perhaps with the rare ones he came across by chance a hundred miles away—he didn't hide it. .He is sincere and has deep insights into himself, qualities that he usually does not show in front of men.

Maybe it's for mutual exchange.If it weren't for showing off her own professional skills, she doesn't know why she would tell this dog-related story.They ordered another glass of wine and then ordered lunch. "The dog was called Duke and kept barking and whining but the kids were young and they loved the dog. He barked and neighed and said goodbye at home. He barked at the other kids, Neighbors complained. I tried to give it away privately, but no one took it in. So, on a whim - this is horrible, why am I telling you this?" "Because this story troubled you. Because you saw pity in my eyes."

"Yeah, that was a wild, impulsive act. I made myself believe that the dog was terminally ill and very poor. I drove on 85, which I think should be 85, past a big dam, into the boulders The barren desert was far beyond the distance I was determined to go. I kept walking, walking, and finally stopped, opened the car door, let Duke out, and turned back to drive home. I told Leni, My dear, the dog got lost, I'm sorry. However, I didn't stop there, I lost control mentally, and I couldn't stop talking. I started driving with two children, roaming the streets, day after day Shouting out the car window Duke, Duke. Yes, that dog haunted me like something in a dream. I realize now that it didn't happen and I'm so relieved and relieved .” "So you realize you didn't do that." Brian liked the story so much that she started liking it too.That, she felt, might be why she told the story. "Driving through the dead streets on a long summer afternoon. I could hear the kids yelling, Duke, Duke. They were five and three years old, I remember, looking out the car window Call that dog's name aloud." The air conditioner in the empty restaurant was broken.During the meal she laughed, almost uncontrollably, looking at Brian's glass with pleasure on her face, sad and ashamed at the thought of her behaviour. He said, "Duke, Duke." "It's Duchino, actually. Little Duke. That's what Nick came up with. He's half-Italian, you know?" "Our Nick? When did this happen?" "You see no Italian features in his face?" "There's a little bit of that in his voice." "What tone?" "The way a gangster speaks when he threatens someone." "What rascal?" "His tone of voice. Professional, patterned, quite comical." "Speaking of family background," she said, "you don't have to answer this question if it's private. Did you ever keep a rabbit as a pet?" They had a great time.She found that she categorized her responses as he spoke, and answered them one by one.Sometimes, she couldn't help but interject and saw his face light up.She told him she played hockey in school and now misses that sport.She misses drinking from the garden hose, and misses her mother and father terribly.Nine and six years had passed since their deaths, and the effect on her was greater now than ever, had entered her life deeply.It made it perfectly understandable to her that someone would see ghosts and talk to the dead.There is a water pipe in her garden, but she doesn't use it for drinking and doesn't allow her children to.This is the difference between the two generations, not so much in what is lost, but in understanding.She became suspicious, very alert.She told him that even though she couldn't quit, she missed smoking back then. They finished their lunch and went up a flight of stairs into the lobby of the hotel.In her mind, she walked up, into a deserted hallway, into a darkened room.She saw herself pulling back the coverlet and standing on top of the cool sheets, waiting for a knock at the door.Later, they heard, from the loudspeaker in front of the courthouse, a song full of sorrow sung in falsetto.In the warm sunshine, they walked to the car. Brian sees a Chevrolet the color of lime juice.It was a 1957 Bel Air convertible with a white interior.Trembling all over, Brian covered his body with the canopy and pretended to stick out his tongue, licking the shiny metal on the car body.Marianne felt that a man deserved something like this, not fat around his thighs.Still, she had to give credit to the car.It feels lighthearted, dynamic, and even great in one way, with chromed lines.The witty music floats in the ears, touching people's hearts, making this car more pure. Brian emerges from under the canopy. "Have you ever owned a car like this?" "I was so young," he says, "my older brother used to have one. Brendan designed a Beer convertible. We still talk about it with awe. It was his life. That car was everything to him. Girls, love, personality, power. It represented his moment of glory. All these cars had so-called forward-looking shapes, which were very trendy back then, like jet fighters. But looking ahead doesn't really mean the future. It means focusing on the present and enjoying life, because the 60s are approaching, unstoppable. The engine of this car is roaring deep. People didn't understand it then, but since From then on, Brendan started to go downhill." They stood and chatted under the elm trees on the edge of the square.His car is parked next to the Old City Jail, which is now the Chamber of Commerce.They said good-bye to each other in a very polite way.Maybe they were guilty of something, she thought, and needed to adjust their expressions for the journey home to clear the noise from the system.She walked down the street to her car, feeling the pulse of the sun with each step.