But Bobby Senior didn’t turn a hair. “You can’t expect me to take the blame, can you? I got a position to uphold.”
Nettled, Bobbyjay said, “Can’t you think of something? You’re the boss of this family.”
Pop showed his yellow teeth. “You think of something, collitch boy.” God, that was getting old. “You want to be the boss so bad, you gotta come up with something better than goofing off and making a monkey of yourself.”
This was a new accusation. “Wh—but—I don’t want to be the boss!”
“Well you’re gonna be,” Bobby Senior said with finality.
Bobbyjay’s jaw dropped in horror.
Pop scooted forward in his chair. His voice sank to a confidential growl. “You don’t think I can get that moron Bob Junior elected, do ya? Rob don’t give a hoot. It’ll be twenty years before Bobbert and Raybob have any sense, if it don’t take forever.”
The old man really meant it.
Bobbyjay couldn’t breathe. “Why do any of us have to get elected?” Oops, don’t say that. “You’re our f-famous guy, Bobby Senior.”
Bobby Senior’s resemblance to Daisy’s grandfather intensified. He stabbed one stubby finger onto Bobbyjay’s knee.
“Because I ain’t retiring from the Board someday just so Marty Dit can fill it up with hisself and his retarded nephews.”
Bobbyjay stared into the face of the seniormost Morton and realized once again how right Daisy had been.
They’d kill each other.
They would take both their families down with them.
And nothing stood between them except him and Daisy and this fake engagement.
“But Pop,” Bobbyjay said feebly, aghast at what Daisy had got him into. “Dad won’t be too happy about this.”
“That’s why I ain’t sayin’ anything yet. You got to help us out here, boy. Show us you’re leadership material. Figger out how to square Bobby Junior with it. And for Chrissake, get rid of this damnfool engagement with the Ditorelli brat. I need that like I need a hole in the head right now.”
Bobbyjay felt himself getting mad. “We’re engaged. I’m going to marry her.”
“‘We’re engaged,’” Pop mimicked falsetto. “‘I’m going to marry her.’ She’s stupid.”
“So am I,” Bobbyjay snapped.
Bobby Senior’s fist smashed down on top of his beer can, spraying Schlitz on the big TV screen. “You must be! Christ, that pigfucker Marty Dit will make shit outa me for months!”
Daisy was right. The engagement was the only thing keeping these two maniacs apart right now. Quick thinker, that girl.
An idea of low cunning occurred to Bobbyjay.
“Old man Ditorelli isn’t any too happy about our engagement either. He smiled a lot last night,” Bobbyjay said, passing lightly over the police .38 misfiring, “but I could tell he was pissed.”
Bobby Senior’s evil old face lit up. “I should hope so. The foxy old motherfucker thinks he’s so goddam smart. I bet he’s shitting stage weight.”
In pursuit of his cunning idea, Bobbyjay said, “He doesn’t want Daisy to get a stagehand job either. Says she can’t take care of herself. Thinks she’ll get into trouble.”
“Probably get knocked up in the first week,” Bobby Senior agreed, confirming Bobbyjay’s own worst fears.
But Daisy wanted the job. She’d pleaded with him. She’d touched him on the arm and begged.
Ruthlessly, Bobbyjay turned the screw. “Yeah, it would probably give Marty Dit a coronary if she actually got a gig somewhere, like, props extra at the Opera or something. All those scumbags in the apprentice program hanging around her like flies.” The thought made him a little queasy. He stifled the feeling and watched his grandfather’s face.
The seams around Bobby Senior’s mouth slowly creased. “He’d hate it.”
Bobbyjay gave it one more turn. “Pop, are you sure you want to provoke Marty Dit? You do this every election year.”
Bobby Senior bridled, trying and failing utterly to look innocent. “Do what? I don’t do nothin’.”
“Every election year you run for the Board and Marty Dit tells everybody, ‘Let Bobby Morton Senior do it.’ Halfway through the campaign you do something to piss him off. And then he just has to run against you.”
Pop chuckled. “Yeah, he does seem to get hisself all lathered up, doesn’t he?”
It occurred to Bobbyjay that he wasn’t totally pouring oil on the troubled Morton-Ditorelli whirlpool. “You’re not gonna do that this year, are you, Pop?”
Bobby Senior smacked him on the knee. “I’m gonna give your fiancée what her pretty heart desires, boy.”
“Oh, good,” Bobbyjay said hollowly.
Chapter Seven
“We have to talk. Right away,” Daisy hissed into the phone.
“I know,” Bobbyjay said. “Can you get away this afternoon?”
She peeked out the window to the driveway. Goomba was standing in front of the Targa, waving his arms emotionally while some guy in a nylon jacket took pictures. “I’m doing groceries this afternoon. Meet me under the big tree by the soccer field.”
“I think I’d like to meet in, like, a restaurant,” Bobbyjay said. “If it’s all the same to you.” He sounded uneasy.
“You want somebody to see us together?”
“Lots of somebodies. Your grandfather might not shoot me in front of witnesses.”
She laughed in spite of her shredding nerves. “Poor Bobbyjay! I’ll protect you. How about Pierogi Palace on Milwaukee? Around four.”
“Date. Bye.”
Daisy stared at the phone in her hand, then realized he had hung up. This had to be harder on Bobbyjay than it was on her. At least nobody had threatened to shoot her.
At four she pulled up to a meter right behind Bobbyjay’s Jeep in front of Pierogi Palace.
Bobbyjay waited, all-of-a-twitter, by the pastry case. “Did you drive yourself?” he asked in an undervoice.
“Of course. I get to do groceries by myself,” she added bitterly. She made him sit down at one of the plastic-lace-covered tablecloths and order her some pork pierogis before she would listen to him fuss. “Don’t be so nervous.”
“I thought my Dad would have a coronary,” he said. “Pop’s pissed, of course. How’s your family taking it?”
Rightly supposing he referred to their engagement, she said, “Mom’s holding out for a monster wedding. My stupid cousins are just stunned, I think. Wesley hates you.”
“Oh good. Who the fuck is Wesley?”
“Be nice, he’s just a kid. He’s in love with me. Wesley is my cousin, he’s Goomba’s grandson. Goomba worries me. He’s pretending this is all just wonderful.”
Their Cokes came. The waitress was one of those hundred-year-old black shawls who never smiled. She dumped their Cokes on the table and slapped down a pile of napkins beside them.
“I can’t understand why Goomba’s so calm,” Daisy said when the waitress was out of earshot. “The insurance guy said it would cost five thousand dollars to detail it and replace the upholstery. Nothing else will get the smell out.”
Bobbyjay blanched. “Will that do it?”
“Should, the guy said. Goomba really loves that car.” She added, “I’m expecting you to kick in the deductible.”
“Whatever, no problem,” Bobbyjay said hurriedly. He gave her one of those dog-like looks of devotion that depressed her so much. “We’re in this together.”
“That we are,” Daisy said in gloom. Sitting across from him now in Pierogi Palace she wondered why she’d wanted to meet with him. Bobbyjay Morton had goofed off so badly in his apprentice days that even she, shielded from the Local by a solid phalanx of scratching and farting male relatives, had heard about it. He may be a hunk of surfer-blond beef but he’s thick. What was she doing engaged to him?
Like right now, he was pretending his family hadn’t filled the Porsche full of smelt. The dope.
Be reasonable, common sense said. What good would
it do if he admitted it?
She couldn’t think it would do any good at all. Still, it might be less of a strain on him to admit the truth. He would see that she didn’t care, and then maybe he’d relax around her.
Fat chance. When men fell for her, they lost their minds.
She broke the news hard and fast. “Mom’s going to take me to Bloomingdale’s to look at wedding dresses. And we’re registering for china and linens. You have to be there.”
Bobbyjay didn’t look delighted. “When? I’m running the opera for, like, the foreseeable.”
She rolled her eyes. “When are you not working?”
“I’m a stagehand,” he said.
Give me strength. “I’m aware of that.”
“I’m always working.”
She set her jaw. “Well you can break away for an hour to look at china with me and Mom. I can’t pick out everything myself. It won’t look right.” The fact was, Daisy was getting a little creeped out by Mom’s enthusiasm for this wedding. You’d have thought Mom would be more nervous, not less, to know that the groom was in the crosshairs of every male-relative-by-ex-marriage Mom possessed. “We’re committed, Bobbyjay. I know this isn’t what you would have wanted, but if we don’t put up a really, really good imitation of a happy couple, our grandfathers are going to end up shooting each other.”
“I know,” he said unhappily. “I know.”
“I’d like to turn them both over my knee.”
“You hold ’em down, I’ll paddle ’em,” he said. He gave her a weak smile and, when she giggled, his smile brightened until he looked positively intelligent.
“Bobbyjay, is it true you went to college?”
His expression turned wary. “Yeah.”
“What was your major?”
His lips pressed together. “Mechanical engineering, with a business minor.”
“Whoa. Good grades?” she said wistfully.
“Yeah,” he said, eyeing her.
Daisy sighed. “I wonder sometimes how much of my life I destroyed forever, blowing off high school.” She marveled that someone who could get to college and do well there could have so little common sense.
“I’m no shining example, Daisy. What am I doing with my degree? Pushing boxes and taking abuse—” he stopped.
“From my grandfather, I know, it’s not a career, it just feels like one.” She tried to smile. “If it’s any comfort, he talks that way to everybody. That I’ll-kill-you-now thing.”
“Not to you.”
“For me, he puts sugar on top.”
“You’re a girl.”
“That’s not it,” she said, annoyed. “I’m special.” Bobbyjay looked at her with cow eyes. Oh hush. “I’m special to Goomba. I did something when I was small that made him love me. Once upon a time, nothing was too good for me. Seems like, when I messed up in high school, he forgot all about that.” She added gloomily, “I’m only the housekeeper now.”
“You’re Cinderella,” Bobbyjay blurted.
Daisy looked at him with new eyes. Bobbyjay’s big, handsome, dumb-brick face was pink. He believes in fairy tales, she thought. He’s got me in the middle of one. She was touched in spite of her cynical misery. Trouble with living in a fairy tale is, you never know how long is your sentence of scrubbing hearths before your prince finally shows up with the glass slipper. She softened.
“So you’ll come to Bloomie’s with us?”
“I can’t pick out shit for your trousseau thingy.”
“Of course not. But you have to pretend like you love me enough to show up and let me drag you through prewedding hell.”
“Oh, that’s an inducement.”
She opened her eyes. “Big word alert.”
“Uh,” he said, “I mean, isn’t it gonna irritate your mom to spend all this money on a wedding that doesn’t come off?”
Daisy waved that away. “It’s Goomba’s money. He owes you after pulling a gun on you. And I want some new clothes. Besides, wedding shopping takes months.”
He groaned. “It sounds like hell all right.” He fiddled with the slice of lemon on the rim of his Coke glass.
“It’s just shopping,” she said, not sure if that was the whole truth. “Plus Mom’s being psycho-mother-of-the-bride. She’s freaking me out. It would be nice to have you there,” she admitted. “I feel so alone. My cousins think I’m a traitor and Goomba’s constantly lying about how great this match is, which makes me so nervous I can’t tell you, and Wesley acts pathetic and heartbroken and I feel guilty and I don’t want to.”
“Look, who is this Wesley?”
“He’s only sixteen and he’s my second cousin or something. He thinks Badger Kenack is God’s gift and he wants to be just like him.”
Bobbyjay sent her one of those slow dumb-ox looks that said, You had it for Badger too, once up on a time.
She wanted to tell him to shut up, but it was only Bobbyjay looking dumb. That’s how he gets away with dealing with his family the way he does. She vowed that she would never, ever take that look at face value. It was the kind of look that got people to confess.
She wasn’t ready to confess anything to Bobbyjay Morton.
“Wesley’s problem is he’s too smart to be in this family. He fights for me. He wants to be accepted for being a brawler, but he’s too small. He—he sympathizes with me.”
“When do you want to go shopping?”
And it was that easy. She’d forgotten he was in love with her. Just tell him what you want and you get it.
“Thursday around lunchtime?”
“We get a meal break at the Opera House at noon. Meet you where?”
“The bridal shop on Bloomie’s twentieth floor. We can get you fitted for a tux while we’re at it.” She glanced at him, expecting him to whimper, but he nodded.
The shop bell jingled. “Oh hell,” she hissed, as someone came into Pierogi Palace. “It’s my cousin’s ex-wife. She’ll spy on us and tell Vince and Vince will tell everybody. Can you, like, kiss me or something? On the cheek,” she added hastily.
Bobbyjay rose from his little wire chair and got down on one knee.
“Bobbyjay!” she squeaked. “Don’t overdo it.”
“I gotta be me,” he said solemnly. He lifted her hand from the table and held it in both of his. His voice rose. “I’m glad you told your grandfather, Daisy. Now I can give you this.”
And, right there, he pulled out a little blue velvet box and popped it open on the biggest diamond solitaire Daisy had ever seen in her life.
“Oh, Bobbyjay,” she breathed.
“It’s real.” He stayed kneeling, looking into her face as if he had no other plans for the rest of the afternoon. She thought, If this engagement was real, I’d be all choked up. “You’ll get it back when this is over,” she whispered. “And I’ll take it off when I do the dishes.”
“Try it on.”
She couldn’t resist. She would have felt guiltier if she hadn’t known Bobbyjay pulled down close to a hundred large every year. She had to think hard about the Targa full of smelt before she could pretend that he owed her anything this nice.
Bobbyjay plucked the ring out of its little velvet slot and slid it onto her finger.
“Perfect fit,” she said, surprised.
“I thought it might be.” He watched her stare at the ring on her hand, making her feel self-conscious and a little teary, and then he put his hand on her cheek and pulled her close to him. “Get ready,” he whispered.
Then he kissed her.
She thought about Goomba’s police .38 and considered pulling away.
She thought about Vince’s ex watching and put her soul into kissing back.
To her complete surprise, it was a hell of a kiss.
It felt like he was talking to her with the smoothness of his lips. It felt like riding a motorcycle. She found herself trying to squirm off her chair onto his knee, only to realize his arms were in the way, blocking her. She settled for feeling up his torso.
He kissed her like he would never again get to kiss anyone as long as he lived. Daisy shut her eyes and kissed back.
To her disappointment he broke the kiss first. He put his lips near her ear and whispered, “I think I can get you a job at the Opera House. I mean, Bobby Senior can. I think I’ve talked him into arranging it.”
Daisy gasped. Work away from home! Paying work! Stagehand work! “Oh, Bobbyjay!” she squealed, throwing her arms around him again.
The black shawl slapped their plates of pierogi on the table and harrumphed long and loud.
Bobbyjay sprang away and perched on his little wire chair again. “Uh, sorry, Maria,” he said to the black shawl.
“We’re getting married,” Daisy said to Maria, flourishing her diamond.
“Eat,” Maria grunted. Out at the front counter, Vince’s ex paid for her pastries and rushed out with her cell phone glued to her ear.
The mischief was done now.
“You’ll probably have to talk to Pete Packard,” Bobbyjay said. “Pete’ll take you in to oblige Bobby Senior, but he has to look you over first.”
“Isn’t he president of the Local?” She ate half a pierogi.
“Past president. Now he’s up to the International in New York. We don’t see much of him,” Bobbyjay said and seemed glad of it. “Just tell him you’re Marty Dit’s granddaughter and you want to work at the Opera House.”
“That’s all? Why’s he got to come from New York to ask me that?”
“He’s not coming from New York just for that. He’s in town this week negotiating a contract with a road house in the burbs. You got to show your face so he knows you ain’t a coke-head or a ninny.”
Daisy nodded. “I can fake it.”
He gave her another of those dumb looks. “Nobody ever said you coke.”
She slapped him on the arm. “Thanks a lot. You said they call me Ditsy Daisy.” He chewed pierogi, swallowed, and popped another one, still eyeing her. Daisy bit her own tongue in sheer annoyance. Okay, she’d sort of bought her reputation for ninny. But Bobbyjay’s emotional handicap about her clearly wasn’t blinding him to her faults. “Couldn’t you, like, pretend you respect me?”
Fools Paradise Page 4