30 Days Across America

30 Days Across America

Christopher Dwyer

30 Days Across America

© 2014 Christopher Dwyer

Cover art by Prairie Rose Clayton

Smashwords Edition

License Note: Thank you for buying this book. In all formats, this story is the copyrighted property of the author. It must remain in its complete and unaltered form, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed without permission of the author.

Dedications

To the Teachers' Lounge, who encouraged me to do this.

To the 23 men on the USA's 1994 World Cup team, who've inspired me for 20 years.

And most of all

To my beautiful wife, Amy, who encourages and inspires me daily.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to:

Bill Wilson

Bob Smith

Kickstarter Backers:

Rose Hassan

Fiona Sutherland

Peter Reilly

Marianne Reilly Dwyer

Chelsey Bush

Allison Corona

Leslie Chavez

Susan Brown

Linda Andrews

Anthony Flynn

Richard McGovern

Rafael Noboa Rivera

Jose Salas

Kathryn Picken

Book Interior Design and Layout:

Sara Winters

Cover Design:

Prairie Rose Clayton

Editor:

Laryssa Wirstiuk

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedications

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

About the Author

Chapter One

Bronwen and Joseph Shally spent the evening of April 12th, 1994 celebrating their 32nd wedding anniversary at a chic new restaurant in Morristown before catching a movie. Since their first year together, they followed the same routine. The dinners had moved from a rare night out at the pedestrian Arlington Diner near their old home in Kearny to more upscale places – 'linen napkin joints,' as Joseph would call them - as their income grew, but there was always a movie. That night the movie was a lighthearted romantic comedy, and they emerged from the theater holding hands and smiling.

They listened to a classic rock station out of New York on the drive home. Crosby, Stills and Nash's Teach Your Children was playing, and Bronwen rested her hand on Joseph's as he held the gear shift. The drive was foggy, but neither that nor the driver tailgating them on Rt. 202 soured their mood.

The last thing either of them heard was a commercial for an investment scheme, which made Joseph smile. He'd built his career from the ground up, first at Hudson County Community College, then as a transfer to Montclair State, then as a law student at Rutgers Newark. When he and his friend Luke Jacobsen couldn't find work at the large New York firms, they decided to form a partnership in Chatham, specializing in estate law. That partnership had grown from two to fourteen, and they added Securities and Corporate law into their practice areas, increasing the number of junior attorneys to 60. Jacobsen Shally, LLP now had offices in Morristown and New York, and, in addition to their many corporate clients, they maintained a large portfolio of well-heeled residents of Morris, Essex, and Somerset counties, bringing Joseph's net worth well into eight figures.

Bronwen thought about this, too, as she saw Joseph smile. She hadn't come from as humble beginnings as Joseph, but she knew the minute she met him that he was going places. Together they had made the decision that, once David was born, she would return to work as soon as she could. This had served her career well, as she rose from payroll clerk to Director of Human Resources at Johnson and Johnson in those 22 years.

A doe darted out in front of their car, and for a moment he exhaled when she made it past the car. He did not, however, see the buck that was chasing her. That buck ran headlong into the side of the hood of their Jaguar XJ-12, sending it into a spin. There was no time for the Buick Windstar that was following them to stop, and the force from that impact sent Joseph and Bronwen straight into an oak on the other side of the road. A truck coming the other way stopped to call the police, but the pair was already dead

****

David Shally was called out of his 9am 19th Century American History seminar at Seton Hall University by the department secretary and brought into an empty office where he was met by his father's old friend and partner, Luke Jacobsen. There was a flat, nearly numb affect about Luke that David had never seen before on this jovial friend of the family. This sent a chill down David's spine.

David, please sit down, Luke said, and David gingerly took a seat.

David, I have some terrible news. There's been an accident. Your parents were struck by a deer, and then by another car. It was - David, I'm so sorry. Your parents are dead.

And that's when David's world stopped spinning. Luke told David some other things, namely that he was personally taking care of the estate and that funeral arrangements had already been made. Was there anything he could do? But David could only nod as the tears ran down his cheeks. A counselor entered the office shortly after Luke had finished talking, telling David that he could take all the time he needed before coming back to classes, and again, if there was anything she could do, her office would always be open. David heard none of that.

Luke brought David back home to Montclair and handed him his business card.

I'll be in touch when the arrangements are finalized, he said, and embraced David tightly. Is there anyone else you'd like me to call?

David thought for a moment.

Dad has, uh, had a brother in North Arlington. I think he works in the city. Mom was an only child. My grandparents died shortly before and after I was born, so I guess that's it. They may have cousins or something, but I don't know. Maybe there's something on their Rolodexes or computers.

I'll ask their secretaries, Luke replied. In the meantime, here's my card. My home number's on the back. Call if you need anything. Really, I mean it.

I will, Luke, David lied.

Luke left for his office in Morristown, and David was all alone.

The funeral was set for that Saturday, the 16th, with closed-casket wakes that Thursday and Friday. The funeral would be held at a lovely Roman Catholic church near their home in Basking Ridge, and David thought it odd, and strangely amusing that this would be his parents' first time in a church since 1972 at his baptism. After the funeral there would be a repast at a catering hall in Bernardsville.

Dude, are you sure you don't want me to come with you? David's roommate, Julio Cruz, asked him as he got dressed for the Thursday evening wake. Look, at least let me drive you.

The firm is sending a car. I'll be fine, David replied.

You're sure, then. You don't want the company? Julio asked.

Sure. I'm good. Just hang out, do something fun, whatever. I'll be back in a few hours.

The wake, like all wakes, was horrible. Scores of people he'd never met approached him, offering their condolences. At first, David tried to remember their various connections to his parents, but after the 20th time hearing I worked with your dad on this or that case or Your mom was such an amazing boss; no wonder you turned out so well, he just didn't even pretend to care anymore. His uncle approached him, and they talked for a few minutes. But after the first hour-and-a-half of the three hour wake, David just walked out, lit up a cigarette, and tried to pretend none of this was real. He reappeared about every 15 minutes to avoid bringing any more attention to himself than necessary.

But it was real. Really awkward. And Julio came with him to Friday's wake.

The funeral itself wasn't so bad. The sermon was blissfully short, the music wasn't godawful, and Luke gave a lovely eulogy. The repast was first class: prime rib, fabulous ziti and lasagna, Italian cold cuts, a large assortment of pies and cakes, and an open bar. The firm had splurged on one of its founding partners. By the end of the repast, David had heard from many, many people how loved and respected both of his parents were, and he was grateful for that.

As he was about to climb into the Town Car to head back north to Montclair, Luke caught up with David and handed him another copy of his business card.

A car will be sent to your place at 10 Monday morning to take you to my office. We have some business to discuss about your parents' estate.

****

At 10 AM sharp on the 18th of April, a Lincoln Town Car appeared in front of 61 Elm Street to take David to the offices of Jacobsen Shally, LLP. Luke's executive assistant walked David back to his office, where Luke and his father's accountant, Mr. Garibaldi, sat at a conference table.

Good morning, David. Thank you so much for coming. As you know, your parents were very wealthy people who were diligent about their savings, so we have a bit of work to do today. My job is easy, actually. You're the sole heir to your parents' estate. You have the house in Basking Ridge with all the furnishings, the summer home in Ocean Grove, your mother's Volvo station wagon, and their financial holdings, which Mr. Garibaldi will discuss with you. You should also expect payouts from your parents' life insurance policies, which were a million dollars a piece, as well as the policy on your father's Jaguar, plus the $100,000 accidental death rider on that policy. Your mother, as an employee of Johnson and Johnson, had a $60,000 life insurance policy. Do you have any questions so far?

David stared back at Luke. He'd known his parents were wealthy but not to this extent. The $2.1 million and change was a lot of money, and that didn't even cover their savings? He shook his head no, and Luke continued.

Great. I know this is a lot to process, but you can call me later if any questions come up. Now, Mr. Garibaldi has prepared a little presentation for you on your parents' financial holdings. Tony, if you would, please?

"Absolutely. David, first I want to say how terribly sorry I am for your loss. Your dad has been a dear friend since he moved to Kearny from Newark in second grade. It's been a privilege to see his hard work pay off and amass into the fortune he's left you.

Now, your parents left you everything, but after the IRS gets their cut, you're going to have around $14 million in total assets. $12.5 million of that is in securities, mostly stocks and bonds, with a few exotic instruments and precious metals thrown in. It's very diversified both in risk and industry, but we'll change some of those ratios to accommodate a portfolio of a 22, rather than a 55-year-old man. The other $1.5 million is liquid assets, mostly T-Bills, but there's nearly $400 thousand in cash and $226 thousand in the first CD I helped your dad buy back in 1974.

Now, $14 million is a tremendous sum, but the real number is the one I'm going to give you now. The interest alone on these investments will net you $560,000 a year. Add in the dividends from the securities, and that number goes north of $1.1 million. Your father has been funneling most of that back into his portfolio for many years, but you can certainly live off that money while you're getting your career off the ground. What are you majoring in, again?

History, David replied.

Right. Then for the interest and dividends, I'll definitely open up a money market account that you can draw from, and I'll put the cash straight in, along with those insurance payments, when they arrive. I'll continue to pay the rent on your place in Montclair, as well as your tuition and other bills. Unless, of course, you'd rather live in the Basking Ridge or Ocean Grove properties.

Um, I don't know quite yet what I'm going to do about that, David said. It just kinda hit me that I'm probably going to have to sell at least one, if not both of those places.

Well, we have time, Tony replied. Now, if you'll just sign here, and here, and here, I'll be able to make all of that happen for you.

David signed more paperwork than he'd ever seen in his life, giving him control over his parents' properties and holdings. The Town Car got him back to Montclair around 3, and Julio walked through the door an hour after that.

How'd it go at the firm today, man? So, you loaded now or what? I know your old man owned that law firm or some shit, right? Julio asked.

David nodded his head in affirmation.

No shit! How loaded are you, bro?

Like Michael-fucking-Jordan loaded, dude, David replied, entirely without affect. Let's go out tonight; I'm buying.

Chapter Two

David applied for, and received, a leave of absence from Seton Hall for the remainder of the spring semester. And the phrase I'm buying was heard often around the bars on Bloomfield Avenue.

At first, Julio didn't think anything of David's carousing. It was perfectly normal, he reasoned, for a 22-year-old man who'd just lost his parents to let loose a little steam. When late April turned into early May, and the partying continued, Julio was happy to host his entire physics department from Montclair State at their house for an end-of-year blow out. But by two weeks after the end of the semester, when all the students and academic hangers-on had left, David was starting to become more and more of a mess. He went from clubs at 10pm to old-man bars at 10am, throwing money around like water. Julio had tried to keep up for the first week or so, but there was a reason he set the curve more often than not back in high school, and it wasn't his tolerance for alcohol. Once, or maybe twice he waited for David in the bar. After that he started letting him stumble home by himself.

Had it not been for Luke Jacobsen, the estate would have gone to hell in that month. Luke indulged David when he asked to sell the properties and their furnishings, and donating the nearly-new Volvo to the Salvation Army offset much of the tax penalty associated with that sale. He executed David's plan to buy the Montclair house from his landlord but begged him to charge Julio rent, regardless of his financial situation. Since David absolutely refused to take a dime from his high school friend, Luke was pacified when Julio agreed to sign an indemnification holding David harmless in case of an accident on their property. But Luke simply put his foot down when David called him in the middle of the night, asking him to liquidate $5 million, just because he wanted to roll around in $100 bills like in the movies. When asked the following day about this conversation, David had no recollection. Julio shook his head and sighed.

Julio was overwhelmed. He brought David back to his parents' apartment in North Hudson for Sunday dinner to give him an afternoon away from the bars. His mother said that David just needed a hobby, or a girlfriend: something to take his mind off of his loss. When his 16-year-old sister offered to help with the latter, Julio announced it was time to go.

****

What the fuck is up with you? Julio asked when they got back to Montclair. First you're trying to drink yourself to death, now you're hitting on my kid sister? Dude, seriously. This has got to stop.

Yo man, whatever, David replied. First of all, I wasn't hitting on your sister, she was hitting on me. And I'm just trying to have a little fun - come on, what the fuck would you do?

What - fun? You call what you're doing 'fun'? Bullshit. Jesus, Dave. Do you know how many idiots like you I've seen drink their sorry asses straight out of the physics department?

And? I'm not in school right now, bro. I can't drink my way out of anything 'cept getting laid.

Yo, and that's another thing, said Julio. Big playboy like you hasn't even brought a girl home. The fuck's wrong with you, man?

David conceded that Julio had a point. Not about the girl, as he wasn't a one-night-stand kind of person, but that there was something wrong. It wasn't fun, or at least it wasn't fun anymore. It was work, and it was getting a little scary. Waking up on the lawn should have been amusing, and David certainly played it off as such. But it wasn't. Waking up to find his car halfway onto the lawn, not remembering that he'd driven to a bar on Route 46 was scary. Walking towards it, hoping not to find blood on the grill was even scarier. Ignoring all this for the moment, he pushed on.

Ain't nothing wrong with me that another beer won't fix, so stop trying, David said. He walked to the fridge to get himself a cold Sam Adams.

What? He asked as he sat in his easy chair and turned on the TV, only to catch the final score of the Knicks' loss to the Bulls in game four. The Bulls had leveled the series after being down 2-0, just as they had seemingly every time those teams met in the playoffs. Michael Jordan or no, the Bulls were the Bulls and they beat the Knicks. What stung David about this time was that '94 was supposed to be the year his Knicks got past Chicago. Jordan was playing double-A baseball, and the rest of the Bulls were seemingly human without him. At that moment he had no way of knowing that New York would wind up winning the series. The Bulls were just a force of nature, like wind, rain, and deer.

Fuck! he yelled.

He slung the remote control at his 32-inch big screen, causing a small explosion and a large hole in the center of the tube. He looked up to see yet another thing destroyed, then he swore again and put his head in his palms, sobbing.

Julio walked to the side of the easy chair and put an arm around his friend.

Yo, dude, it's cool. Just let it all out.

I don't know, man, David said. It's just, you know, why? Dude, they were in their 50s. I mean...

Julio sat on the side of the easy chair for a few minutes while David cried, putting his arm around his shoulder and muttering things he thought would be helpful like It's cool and Let it all out. When David had cried enough for Julio's comfort, Julio began talking to him again in full sentences. He thought this might be the thing that would spur David into taking care of his grief, or at least dealing with it more productively than trying to out-drink the rest of Essex County.

You know, the counseling center for my college will see you, Dave, he began. And they're just a couple of blocks away. Why don't you let me take you over there, and we'll see if they can help you.

Man, fuck that. Psychobabble's just a bunch of bullshit. They want to make you think like you've got some big-ass problem from your inner child or a past-life or some shit, then they load you to the gills on this Prozac crap until you can't feel anything anymore. Hell no. I'll fucking deal with it.

Julio sighed. David's reaction wasn't unexpected, but it was still more than a little disheartening. Yeah, okay. I hear you. But let's at least find something to do - 15 miles from Manhattan; we can find better than some guido bars, right?

Julio picked up that day's New York Times from the dining room table where it had been sitting all day, and pulled out the Arts and Leisure section. Their prep-school education had given them an appreciation for cultured activities, which was making his foray into old-man bars and cheesy discos that much more worrisome.

Yo, toss me the sports section, will you? David asked. Julio handed it over. Julio was looking for a play or a concert in the city, while David was checking the sports section to see exactly how the Knicks had blown game three. He then ran across an article titled Short on Soccer, US Gears for Heavy Dose. It was about the World Cup, and while it mainly concerned the business and logistical aspects of putting on the tournament, it also highlighted the sheer number of tourists that would be arriving to watch the games.

Now, while most Americans didn't even know that the World Cup was happening, coming from an East Coast prep school background, David had more than a passing familiarity with the sport. There were a few British families who'd sent their children to Lawrenceville – the school where he and Julio met – and they would occasionally mutter names like Lineker and Hoddle. And he had heard sometime in his Senior year of high school that the United States had qualified for the 1990 tournament, but he and his family had taken a trip to Australia that summer, and were mid-flight while his countrymen were losing to the Czechoslovaks. So while he understood the magnitude of the event, it was never something that was going to be a fixture on his to-do list. But David was a sports fan first and foremost, and this might be the only major international sporting event to come to New Jersey in his lifetime.

Holy fuck, David mumbled.

Julio looked over to see a nearly manic look in his friend's eyes.

Dude, I know what we're doing this summer.

Julio was a little scared, but interest in something was better than anything he'd seen from David over the last month.

Okay, What are we doing?

You want to see the world, buddy? David asked.

Well, yeah, but -

No buts. The whole freaking world is coming to America this summer. And we're going to see it.

Um, explain, please?

Dig it: the USA is hosting the World Cup this year. The World Freaking Cup, man. It's going to be insane: all these people from all over the world coming here to watch some soccer. But you probably know all about that, right?

What do you mean? Julio asked.

I mean, dude, don't your folks watch soccer? I thought it was big in those Spanish-speaking countries or something.

Julio shook his head.

Dude, remember that conversation we had about how just because we all speak Spanish, we're really not all the same? Julio paused. Yeah, this is one of those things. Okay, listen. If you brought a soccer ball to Cuba, someone would probably try to hit it with a baseball bat. We don't even have it in the suburbs like you do here.

Wait, you have suburbs in Cuba?

Man, shut up and let me finish before you say something stupid. We don't do soccer. That's a Mexican thing, or Central American. I don't know. But it sure as shit isn't Cuban.

So you're saying you don't want to go? David asked. 'Cause I'll pay for it. You don't have to worry about that.

I didn't say that at all. Man, what did I tell you about talking? Anyway, I've never seen soccer before is all I'm saying. Maybe it would be fun to go to a game. Are they having any at Giants Stadium?

Oh, dude, David said. I'm not talking about just one game. I'm talking about the whole freaking thing. Look here, see? They're going to have games all over - in Chicago, Detroit, Orlando, LA, Dallas, San Francisco. And we're going to go to all of them.

Yo, what? Julio exclaimed. Are you out of your freaking mind? No, wait, don't answer that. Yes you are. The hell do you mean 'all of them'? Do you have any idea what the airfare's going to cost?

Not with an airplane, man. We're going to drive. Come on, how much of the country have you seen? This is our chance, dude. This summer, before we graduate. Come on, go with me? Please?

You want me to drive around the country with you watching fucking soccer? So, what, so I can nap during the games before we have to drive? Julio asked.

Man, you don't even know. Soccer's not like that. It's exciting as all hell. Four years ago my parents and I were at this Italian joint in Melbourne where they were watching a semifinal between Argentina and Italy. Dude, two hours of those guys just going at it, and then they had to go to penalty kicks. I've never seen a whole stadium just erupt the way they did when Italy scored that first penalty. And the stadium? Shit, I think the restaurant was louder. It was like when – well, I don't know. I've never seen anything like it. In American sports, nothing compares. So anyway, Italy completely outplayed Argentina, but because they couldn't put them away, they lost in penalty kicks. What the fuck, right?

Julio faked snoring as David finished. David threw a throw pillow at him.

And you should've seen some of those women in the stands. Man, that shit was unbelievable. And who do you think they're going to ask for directions or whatever? You telling me you wouldn't want to show some hot little Fräulein how to get back to her hotel? Or your hotel?

You see, now that's something I could get with, Julio said. You should have just said 'hot foreign chicks' and let the rest of that bullshit go. Yeah, whatever. Sounds like fun. How long does this thing take, anyway?

A month. Just a month. First game's on the 17th of June, and the last one's on the 17th of July.

So we'd be away from home for a month? Julio asked. Well, I'm going to have to clear this with my mom, I guess.

Dude, really? You're a grown ass man. What do you have to clear anything with Mommy for?

You've met my mom, you figure it out, Julio answered.

What about your sister? Think she'd want to come along, too?

Julio walked up to David and punched him hard on his arm.

What'd I tell you about my kid sister, man? Hands off!

Can I just look, then? David asked, grinning. He received another punch for his trouble.

Eyes off, too, you sick fuck. Now, let me call mom before I have to hurt you.

Julio called his mom. All David could discern was "Si, Mamí and Copa Mundial and Si, muy loco," and he knew that it wouldn't be a problem. Still, when Julio got off the phone, he had to ask.

So, is Liz coming, too?

Don't make me hurt you, Julio answered. David just laughed.

Come on, we're going to see the country. Figure out what music you want to bring, and we'll get the route planned. But let me buy you a beer to celebrate.

Not staying out all night, are you? Julio asked.

No, Mamí, David said. Julio held his face in his palm.

Dude, that really doesn't mean what you think it means, he said. But whatever. Let's go. Oh, and I'm buying.

Chapter Three

David had only planned to do a small amount of research to learn more about the game, but by the following week, he had assembled just about every scrap of information he could on the World Cup. There were schedules, previews, predictions, full-color magazines - a whole world of information about soccer that he hadn't known existed. He threw himself into this work, starving for more and more information. He had even started to go to the library to brush up on the laws of the game, particularly the pesky (and ever-changing) offside rule. But the most important bit of information was the match schedule. He hadn't known that there would be matches played in venues across the country within hours of each other, so it came as a sad surprise to find that he and Julio couldn't actually attend every single game. But this gave him another task: plan the perfect route.

So, the way I see it, the first game is in Chicago. That's not so far, right? Said David. We should be able to get there in a day. Anyway, we can leave early if we want. That'll give us some time to get situated, find tickets -

Wait, find tickets? Julio asked. Man, this is the biggest freaking sporting event on the planet, and you want to wait until we get there to find some tickets? Are you insane?

I don't even know how to get tickets, David said. Nothing I've read has actually talked about getting actual tickets. It's all about watching it on TV.

I thought you rich people always knew how to get seats to these things. I mean, what's the use in having all that money if you can't make other people jealous? Call up your friend Luke. He's got to know a guy.

I thought you knew a guy, said David.

"Sure, I know a guy if you want to beat a traffic ticket in Hudson County. But this is big time, bro. Call him up and see what he says before we go planning our big adventure.

David did just that: he called Luke to see if he knew anyone who could get World Cup tickets at what - he was surprised to find out - was a very late date. Luke's easy answer was, Of course, I know a guy, and he wondered why David laughed at that. Luke was surprisingly supportive of the young men's quest to see as many games as possible, saying that he himself had traveled cross-country quite a bit in his younger days. He also said something that David immediately tuned out about gaining perspective on his life. David said he'd call Luke back the following day once the itinerary was planned, and he had a large grin on his face when he told Julio.

Of course he knew a guy; there's a reason why his name's on the firm. Now, here's a map, let's plan this shit out.

David opened up the map and brought out the list of games, and the two young men began to work.

First, we could do either Chicago or Dallas. We have all the time we need to get there, so distance isn't an issue, and both of them are probably going to be blowouts, but Chicago gives us the easiest drive to our only possible next destination, which is Detroit.

You might be the first person ever to call Detroit a destination, Dave, said Julio.

"Look, dude. See those three letters? U.S.A. We're going to Detroit. I don't give a fuck what else we do, but we're going to see every freaking USA game in this tournament. Capiche? Okay, now where were we? Right, after that we've got games in Washington, Orlando and LA. If we go to the Washington game, we can see another there the next day before heading out on the road again. Are you still following?"

Yeah, but this is a lot of freaking driving. You get that, right?

No pain, no gain, bro. Anyway, after Washington we can go either to Foxborough, Dallas, or back to Chicago. I like Chicago because the next day there's a USA game in LA, and -

Wait. Hold up, Julio said. "The next day. We're going to drive from Chicago to LA in - one day? How in the fuck are we going