Read Online The Enthusiast by Charlie Haas - Free Book Online

a magazine just to go jogging.”
    â€œHere’s how to tie your shoes,” I said. He smiled and pointed at me. I felt a flush, happy and then annoyed at myself for being happy.
    â€œWhat about long range?” he said. “Where do you see yourself?”
    â€œI haven’t thought too much about it,” I said.
    â€œYou should. This business you’re working for? Grew out of wedding invitations. School menus were a big piece of business.” He paused. “I have trouble talking to Jim sometimes. I think he thinks all this is funny.”
    They’d had a few arguments in Dobey’s office lately, their voices loud but indistinct from across the hall. “He works on it seriously,” I said.
    â€œThat’s good that you say that,” Dobey said. “That’s a good tact for you to take.”
    We went back to the office. As I passed Rensselaer’s desk he smiled and said, “Count your change.”
    That night I walked in on Jillian and Steve in the back hallat Riddenhauer’s. He was leaning on the wall, pulling her toward him, and she was saying, “This is how we get in trouble.” He let go of her when he saw me. She said, “Hey, Henry,” and pointed toward the room where the pool table was. “I’ve got losers.”
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    A few days later, Rensselaer said, “Look at these,” and dropped a handful of skateboarding magazines on my desk: Thrasher, Transworld, Bow to No Man . The stories inside were set in green type on orange background, and the photos of emancipated minors flying off handrails were spattered and solarized. The magazines offered not just a sport but an inverse world, where ramps and drained pools were the places of business, and the normal life squatting just off the page was the dangerous hobby. Sitcoms and Filofaxes, you take your life in your hands with that shit.
    Half an hour later Rensselaer took the magazines back and went into Dobey’s office. I heard their raised voices again. When Rensselaer returned he pointed at me and gestured across the hall.
    â€œHave a seat,” Dobey said when I entered his office. “This is what I mean, about Jim. He thinks this is the way to broaden the appeal.” He held up the skateboarding magazines. “Let’s hate all the regular people. Over-inked bullshit.” He threw them in the garbage. “Remember we talked about where you see yourself going? That’s where we are now. There’s a chance here for you to step up.”
    So this was it: office politics, ruthless. Dobey wanted me to take over the magazine, but I couldn’t do that to Rensselaer unless he’d had it here. Even if he had, was I ready? Maybe I was. I cleared my throat. “I think—”
    â€œHave you looked at Crochet Life lately?” Dobey said.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    â€œCerise Lander does it. She could use some help. It’s gotten a little stagnated. This is a year ago.”
    He handed me a magazine whose cover was split into four photos of crocheted throws muddied by the cereal-box press: a unicorn, a raccoon family, the letters saying LOVE from that painting, and Rip Van Winkle yawning awake. The cover line was EASY PLEASERS!
    â€œHere’s the most recent,” he said. It looked like the first one, except that the throws showed a koala bear, a soapbox derby car, the eye-rolling angels of gift-wrap fame, and a leprechaun guarding his treasure chest. The line was DO-ABLE DAZZLERS!
    â€œYou see what I’m saying?” Dobey said. “It’s lost some snap.”
    Was this a test? A joke? If anything, I thought the koala bear had more snap than the unicorn.
    â€œShe’s fine with someone coming in for a couple of months,” Dobey said. “She’s in Wellfleet, Michigan.”
    â€œI don’t know anything about crocheting,” I said.
    â€œNo. Well, you know. Rosey Grier. The Rams? Bobby Kennedy?” I had no