This One Is Mine: A Novel (27 page)

KURT SLITHERED UP ROSCOMARE IN HIS CHARTREUSE DODGE SATURN. HE had closed Mauricio’s early to get a chant on before the wedding. Kneeling at his altar, Kurt had chanted
Nam My
h
Renge Ky
for an hour, then shampooed his hair. While his curls air dried, he chanted the Lotus Sutra ten times before heading out.

The song “Tiny Dancer” came on the radio.

Blue jean baby, LA lady,

Seamstress for the band

Pretty eyed, pirate smile,

You’ll marry a music man.

Last year, before Kurt kicked his chanting up a notch, this song would have made him go postal.
What the fuck was “Tiny Dancer” doing on KLOS? Since when did some fruit’s B-side take over for “Stairway to Heaven” as the quintessential classic rock anthem?
The dudes next door at Duke’s Diner would blast “Tiny Dancer” just so Kurt would come over and honor them with his genius rant.

But now “Tiny Dancer” played and Kurt had equanimous mind.
Nam My
h
Renge Ky
once again delivering the goods. In a videotaped speech, President Ikeda had said the universe’s offerings were abundant. Most people walked around in delusional states and couldn’t see what was theirs for the taking. Only by chanting
Nam My
h
Renge Ky
could they transform their karma.

If someone had told Kurt a year ago that he’d one day drive to David Parry’s house and
not
seethe with revenge fantasies, he would have told them to take another hit of crack. When the custom leather jacket business didn’t take off, Kurt had a brainstorm. He’d introduce a cheaper line of ready-to-wear and sell them at rock concerts. He had dragged his sample case to David’s office for a meeting. The deal was simple: Kurt would set up a booth at David’s gigs and kick him twenty percent of his profit. But before Kurt even got a chance to unlatch the trunk, David shook his head. “Kurt, it doesn’t fly. I have an exclusive agreement with my merchandiser. I’d have to pay you and him. That’s just not gonna happen.” Kurt said, “You don’t understand —” But David cut him off. “As a favor to Sally, I’ll give you an internship if you’re interested in learning how the music business works.” Kurt
knew
how the business
worked
. For the past ten years, he’d seen it firsthand from the boot shop. He wanted to be David’s
partner,
not the guy who brought him coffee!

But, like President Ikeda said, painful experiences were necessary to motivate us. Once you devoted yourself to the Mystical Law, the hidden connections of the universe started working for you. And he was right. Kurt had chanted for months to live in an apartment without roommates. One day, he saw a giant balloon that read
CONDOS FOR SALE, ZERO DOWN
. It was a brand-new building with a pool on the roof. Kurt took out an interest-only mortgage for three hundred dollars a month more than his rent. Within a week, he had moved in, set up his Gohonzon, and hung the letters WISH and DREAM.

Turned out, three hundred bucks was more of a dent than he’d imagined. After a couple of months, things were getting dire. In order to make the April mortgage, Kurt had been forced to sell all his CDs, disconnect his Internet, and never set foot in a Jamba Juice. He kept chanting, but with a fierceness he’d never before applied to anything in his life. He’d show up for work barely able to speak, his voice was so hoarse. And then what happened? Crazy Sally Parry walked through the door. At first, Kurt was terrified. He knew he’d stuck her with massive credit card bills. He had been haunted by the prospect of the cops coming after him, or worse: her brother. Every time the sleigh bells on the shop door jingled, Kurt jumped, fearing it was David Parry coming to kick his ass. Kurt’s paranoia had consumed him to the point where he had to take codeine cough syrup to get the edge off. But what did Sally do? Invited him to her wedding.
Nam my
h
renge fucking ky
.