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Best
Friends by Thomas Berger Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
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Ambiguous Thomas Berger’s new novel, Best
Friends, delves into the complexities of friendship, midlife changes, and
emotional depths. Slowly and methodically, Berger introduces Roy Courtright and
Sam Gandy, friends since adolescence, as they arrive at middle age and begin
to see each other in a different light. Through Berger’s skill, readers
slowly gain insight into the nuances of personality and the ambiguities of
relationships. Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 5 (pp. 58-63): After
Roy put the crate of bottled water on the floor of the closet, pushing a
space for it beside an outsize pair of custom-made lizard half-boots, he went
to Sam's bedside. His friend was dangling a delicate-looking set of earphones
from one thick finger. "These things weigh only a couple ounces. The
sound is concert-ball quality." "How are you feeling?" "Perfect," said Sam. "There's no
reason to keep me here another day. The doctors love to terrorize the layman.
You know that." He laid the earphones on top of the little Sony
player to which they were attached. It was unusual for him not to have
insisted that Roy verify the claims he had made as to their performance. The
table on Sam's right was all but overflowing with heaped gadgetry: PaIrn Pilot,
cell phone, portable DVD player, miniature voice-operated recording device,
remote for the television mounted high on the far wall. Roy asked quietly, "Have you watched or
listened to the news today?" "Hell with it," said Sam. "If I have
to stay in here, I don't care what happens in East Timor." All
the television and most of the radio stations were in the city where there
had been a scary near-disaster on an airport runway, a big bank robbery, and
the death by auto accident of a popular anchorman of the evening news.
Francine's murder and the suicide of her ex-husband were so low on the gauge
of public importance that Roy had as yet encountered no media reference, at
least as long as he could bear to wait. There would not be a local newspaper
until the following morning. On the way to the hospital he had debated with
himself whether to shock Sam with the whole story now or wait till his friend
finally heard it from some impersonal source and was justifiably hurt, given
the premium he put on loyalty. Roy had made the painful decision. He began to pace
about at the foot of the bed. "I've got to talk about this. Something
terrible happened after I left here yesterday. I still can't believe it. I
forget about it for a moment or two, then it comes back again. I'm sorry to
burden you at this time, but—" "That woman you were running around with got
killed," said Sam without audible emotion. "I guess it was only a
matter of time." "What?" "It's stupid to blame yourself. For what? You
didn't kill her. You defended her. Your conscience should be clean." "That's it? I should just shrug it off?"
He reminded himself that Sam was still supposed to tie a sick man. "I
shouldn't be troubling you with this." "It’s no trouble," Sam said, but not in his familiar
expansive way. "That's what friends are for. Kris and I are glad to
help, but I can't see much is gained from going over and over the incident.
Nothing can be changed now. What's done is done." "Kristin told you." "Well, we're married." "I didn't mean she shouldn't have," Roy
said quickly. But he lied. He had taken her into his confidence. He might not
have used those terms, but he had expected her to understand them by
implication. . . . But he was now lying to himself. She had had every reason
to assume she was serving as a substitute for Sam. She had even said as much,
had she not? "I was grateful to her for listening to my
troubles." "That's one of her specialties," said
Sam, who seemed to be watching him for a reaction. "Yes," said Roy. "I can understand
that." The subject made him uneasy. Though Kristin had given Sam the
secondhand account of what happened at The Hedges, she had apparently not
told him the truth about lunch, though there was nothing incriminating to
conceal. She had prepared an omelette aux fines herbes
for each of them and a salad. Roy ate very little of either. They both drank
only mineral water. The entire incident lasted half an hour, give or take. "She can talk too," said Sam. "I'm afraid all she got a chance to do today
was listen to me whine. You're right, I should try to get past it. I've
decided to do something for Francine's poor kids. They're orphans now. God
knows what they've been left by their parents, if anything. Holbrook was a
loser at everything he tried, according to her." It took a moment of
silence for him to realize what he had told his best friend, of whom the same
characterization could well be made. Sam moued. "Well, that's your business. I'll
be glad to tell you what Kris would have said if she had done the
talking." His smile suggested an undercurrent of anger. "She would
have asked you not to lend me any money." It was typical of Sam to have
omitted the, to Roy, essential word "more." Had his friend not been bedridden, Roy might well
have made that point, because they had always been honest with each other. As
it was, he could say only, lamely, "Is that right?" "That's a laugh, ain't it? I'm married to a
banker, and I'm strapped." "This whole thing must cost a fortune,"
Roy said guiltily, meaning the complex of charges incurred by a hospital
patient. Sam dismissed that consideration. "Kris's
insurance covers most of it, I guess. That's not what I'm worried
about." It
was obvious Sam was about to put the bite on him in the interests of another
bad business idea. Had it not been for Kristin's plea, Roy probably could not
have rejected an entreaty by his best friend, or rather, lacking in valor,
have evaded it at least at this moment. Stilly it was to his credit that he
did not carry out his threat to put the blame on her. He consulted his watch. For once Sam did not
comment on the cheap timepiece. "I've got to go, kid. Catch you
tomorrow. I'll call first to hear what you need, but I hope you're getting
out." When Sam saw his friend was serious about leaving,
he sneered at him. "Shit, she did talk to you." "What do you mean?" Though he knew full
well. "Kris told you not to lend me any money." "You're out of your skull," said Roy.
"You've got too much time on your hands here. Better try to get well
soon." He winked, then headed for the door but had not quite reached the
knob when he was halted by an anguished appeal in a contorted voice he had
never heard before in all the years they had been best friends. "Give me your word," Sam cried. "Are
you fucking her?" Reflecting later on this vile question, Roy could
only assume that Sam's medication had mind-altering side effects. At the
moment it was asked, however, he knew only an almost ungovernable rage,
followed by so violent a fear of what he might do in such a state that he
felt as though set afire. Incapable of speech, he stepped into die hallway
and walked rapidly among white-coated people and stainless-steel conveyances
until he reached the parking lot, where distracted momentarily by a loss of
memory as to which car he was using, he had to recover a sense of himself in
space and time. "Excuse me, but are you feeling okay?" It was a woman, a pale-complexioned, redhaired
young woman wearing a tan raincoat. Roy was leaning against a blue Taurus of recent
date. "I'm sorry," he said, straightening up. "Is this yours?
I just felt a little shaky for a minute." She pointed. "Maybe you ought to go over to
the outpatient and have yourself checked out." "I'll
be all right. I've just lost a close friend, and it hits me from time to
time." Lowering his head, he noticed white shoes and stockings below the
raincoat. "That's
awful. I didn't know we lost anyone today. I'm very sorry.” "No, it was last night, and not in the
hospital. . . . You work here, don't you?" "In
fact, I think I met you the other day. You're Mr. Grandy's friend?” "Oh, sure," Roy said, his memory reviving to the degree that he could not only spot, in a rank of cars thirty yards away, the Jaguar E-Type he had parked there, but almost recall the nurse's name. "You're Miss Atkins." He had never been attracted to redheads, but her
smile was endearing. "It's Akins. But I'm impressed that you came so
close on such slight acquaintance. You're living up to your reputation." Roy was more incredulous than flattered. "How
in the world do you know anything about me?" "Your friend." He had instantly forgotten about Sam. "Of
course." "He
gives you the big buildup," Miss Akins said, twitching the retrousse
nose Sam thought cute. "He has a high opinion of you." "He'll say anything, Miss Akins. He's
notorious for that. I wouldn't listen to him if I were you." "It's Suzanne." He felt considerably better than he had only a few
moments earlier. "I hope you're not offended if I ask how is it that you
are so much friendlier now than you were in Sam's room?" He was on safe
ground, having never met a woman who did not enjoy most those questions which
the typical man would think rude. She produced an enumerated explanation. "I was
on duty, one. Two, just now you looked like you were in trouble. Three, I
didn't want to make your friend jealous. I'm serious. Patients are sensitive
about the attention paid to them by nurses and, it goes without saying,
doctors. Have
you ever been a hospital patient, Mr., uh—" "You don't know my name, do you?" Roy
asked triumphantly. "You
own the fancy car store in town." "I haven't been in a hospital bed since my mother delivered me.
My name is Roy Courtright." "Tell me, Roy, what do those cars cost? I
can't see any posted prices through the show window, and that sign on the
door says 'by appointment only."' Her twinkling eyes reminded him of
some star of the old movie musicals he had watched with Sam, but right now
any association with his best friend had negative connotations for him. "The phone number appears there as well."
Roy spoke with a certain impatience, having heard this frivolous complaint
more than once. "The prices vary greatly, according to the
car, based on its rarity; condition, and so on." "What's the 'so on'?' He could not yet determine whether he was being
baited. "Demand There have to be people who want to buy it." He
lifted his index finger. "See that XKE Jaguar over there? It's
considered one of die most beautiful automobiles ever built. You don't see a
lot of those on the streets nowadays, but quite a few were made during the
years they were in production, and many were imported into the U.S,A. Because
they aren't terribly rare, the demand for them is not great enough to bring
really high figures. You could buy that one for about what your Ford Taurus
cost you." "That's not mine. There's my car. I thought it
new last month." "The BMW?" It was a black 530i, surely an
extravagance on a nurse's income. She lauded at him. '"How in hell can she
afford that?' You're right, I can't. I haven't got any clothes and I've
stopped eating. I'll have it paid off in ten or fifteen years, if I live that
long, but I broke up with somebody and needed to lift my spirits." "A doctor who drove an S-class Mercedes?" "Hey!" said she. "Close enough.
You've been reading my diary." Her vivacity seemed genuine enough, and Roy was reluctant to part with
her and be alone with his troubles, which had continued to multiply.
Now he could no longer even be friendly with Kristin. Some relationships are for better or for
worse. Others fail to weather any storm. Berger’s Best
Friends lets us watch as Roy and Sam struggle with each other. If you’ve
not like psychological fiction, or didn’t like Berger’s earlier novels, you
may find Best
Friends more to your liking. Steve Hopkins, July 25, 2003 |
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ã 2003 Hopkins and Company, LLC The
recommendation rating for this book appeared in the August 2003
issue of Executive
Times URL
for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Best
Friends.htm For
Reprint Permission, Contact: Hopkins
& Company, LLC • 723 North Kenilworth Avenue • Oak Park, IL 60302 E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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