Confidence: a Novel by Rafael Frumkin

Author:Rafael Frumkin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2023-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

REAL ESTATE DEVELOPER CHUCK ENNER, the father of delinquent youth Jeremy Enner, wrote an essay about watching his adolescent son set fire to the dining room rug. He went on to say that fifteen-year-old Jeremy had been expelled from three schools and spent six weeks in a juvenile detention center for punching his history teacher in the mouth.

We are at the end of our rope he wrote. We have tried all sorts of expensive therapies for him but are finding no relief. When we learned about NuLife and this contest, my wife and I knew we had to put our hats in the ring.

Chuck Enner won our contest. I made him submit photos of Jeremy, whose cowlick and snarl suggested that he wasn’t accustomed to sitting for pictures, and Brianna plastered them all over our website and social media. Jeremy Enner, whose parents had exhausted every form of behavior modification therapy available, would be receiving revolutionary treatment on the Farm. Specifically, Synthesis administered by Orson Ortman, one of the foremost experts on behavior modification therapy in the country.

We flew the Enners out from North Dakota and drove them to the Farm in a cavalcade of SUVs. Orson and I stood at the front doorstep to greet them while cameras flashed. The five of us posed together: Chuck rooster-necked and square-shouldered, his wife, Priscilla, slim and blinking like a panicked saluki, and Jeremy freckled and dead-eyed, clearly furious that he’d been forced to be a part of this.

Inside, away from the cameras, Orson asked Jeremy if he was feeling ready to spend twenty-four hours on the Farm. Jeremy looked Orson up and down, clearly taking in his jean jacket and work pants—an “approachable” wardrobe I’d picked out for him that morning—and snorted.

“Yeah, I’m ready for your New Age bullshit,” he said.

Chuck smacked Jeremy on the back of the head, which was horrifying, so I quickly turned away to meet Priscilla’s pleading gaze.

“Jeremy can’t help it,” she squeaked. “We try so hard, but he can’t help it.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said, and then turned to Jeremy. “It’s going to help you,” I said softly. “I promise.”

Jeremy made a noise that sounded like he was about to hock a wad of spit, but he hocked nothing, just crossed his arms and looked at Orson, who hadn’t stopped smiling.

“Let’s get started,” Orson said.

We ate a banquet lunch with the Enners, the kitchen staff serving meat for the first time in the brief history of the Farm. Jeremy and his father loved ribeye, and both devoured theirs with quiet precision. Jeremy clearly possessed all of Orson’s metabolic gifts without any of his tendency to scarf. But Orson didn’t scarf: he barely ate. The Enners listened as he explained Synthesis and the Bliss-Mini and the Bliss-Mini 2 (currently in development), clearly distracted by the beauty of the farmhouse, which I’d had redecorated in reds and golds specifically for their visit (red and gold being Jeremy’s favorite colors). When Jeremy was finished with his ribeye, he slouched in his seat and began somewhat vigorously kicking Chuck’s shins under the table.

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