Fools Paradise (30 page)

Marty Dit looked doubtfully at Bobbyjay, then at Daisy. He shrugged. “It's gotta happen. I'm through.”

He raised Daisy's hand from the sheet, kissed it, and stumped out.

Bobbyjay pulled a chair up next to her and sat. He didn't know what to think.

“How'd it go?” she said suddenly.

He jumped. “Daze?”

Her eyes were open, worried-looking. “What did Bobby Senior say?”

Bobbyjay hunched his shoulder. “Not good, so far. I think he don't believe it.”

“He'll believe when he gets the letter,” she said.

“Daisy, you mustn't ever do that again. These guys are dopes,” he said, voicing a conviction that had darkened his nights for years. “They don't understand subtle. Daze, please. You about gave me a stroke.”

He looked at her knuckles, white on his hand, When he raised his eyes to hers, she seemed to be holding her breath.

“Daisy, I know you're tough. But you're too important to me to be a—a pawn in this stupid business. If I have to, I'll take you away, clean out of Chicago, out of state, whatever it takes, and let them all blow each other to kingdom come.” He smiled weakly. “My heart can't take the excitement.”

She answered his smile with a whisper. “Well. We'll have to take good care of your heart.”

For a long moment he felt as if the entire world was a perfect place. He felt strong and wise and happy. He heard children laughing in the corridor and he knew that nobody was going to die. Daisy smiled at him and made it even better, as if a blaze of sunshine was holding his hand. He could take a chance now.

“Will you come?” he said.

“Away?” she said wistfully. “I wish I could.” The sunshine vanished. “We have to finish what we've started, Bobbyjay. We're only part way there.” His doubts returned. “Did your grandfather say anything about Goomba's peace offer?”

He sighed. “I didn't like how he just laughed about the letter. My cousin is up to something.” He wished he could say his father had nothing to do with it, but who was he kidding? “If they pull something bone-headed.”

She echoed his worry. “If Goomba gets mad because Bobby Senior didn't meet him halfway—”

Bobbyjay got up and kissed the frown on her forehead. “You're not supposed to get agitated.”

He was rewarded with her smile. “Oh, I was just faking,” she said blithely.

“And I'm the king of China.” He hesitated, then leaned closer and kissed her on the lips. “Don't worry. We'll work something out.”

“You're as bad as your grandfather,” she said, but her whole face glowed at him. He felt better.

“Get well, Daze.”

“Watch your back, Bobbyjay.”

Next morning Bobbyjay was summoned to attend the head of his family. “But I'm workin',” he protested, jamming the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he handed stage weight off to Weasel with the other hand. Like that cut any ice.

“Hell, I thought you'd be the first one to call me,” Bobby Senior said, his voice rough, probably from yelling. “Unless you already know,” he added in a tone Bobbyjay didn't like. “Ain't you been home to read your mail?”

“You got the letter?” Bobbyjay guessed. “I was too beat. I showered, slept, and came back to work.” But why should Pop be mad? Marty Dit had said he was conceding. This was the psychological moment. He'd better go over there and work on Bobby Senior. There would never be a better time to talk peace to him.

This time Bobbyjay stopped by the loading dock to tell the head carpenter he was leaving.

John Tannyhill looked at him with sympathy. “Goin' to see your girlfriend? She'll need you. Gidaddahere.”

Bobbyjay became aware that the guys were silent as they stood around smoking on the dock. Dydee Grant was the only guy not looking at him. Dydee was reading a piece of paper. The letter.

Bobbyjay said, “Thanks, Tanny.”

Dydee looked up from the letter and almost swallowed his cigarette.

The other guys tittered nervously.

Bobbyjay drew a breath. “Okay, what.”

“You better read it,” Dydee said. “You probably got one like everybody.” He flipped the letter to Bobbyjay.

The other guys kind of melted away while Bobbyjay read.

TO ALL VOTING MEMBERS OF THE LOCAL

Anybody who votes for that stupid motherfucker Bobby Morton Sr is asking for the worst three years of their life. Havunt we had enough after 21 years of this shit. The bastard should be ashamed of what he has done to Our local reprisenting us in the worst way possable. Don't vote for this shit head I mean it....

It was all like that. Bobbyjay ran his eye down the page. Cursewords punched out of the badly-spelled invective like jalapenos on a rat taco.

He walked out of the building with the letter in his fist.

“I can't believe the old fucker thought nobody would know it was him,” Bobby Senior rasped when Bobbyjay met him in the TV room at his place. “‘Nobody better vote for him or they will die.' Jesus! Well, if he thinks this is gonna get his campaign anywhere he's got a big sur-fucking-prise coming. Call your girlfriend,” he commanded.

“I don't understand it,” Bobbyjay said, but he did. “Marty Dit told me himself he wrote a letter conceding the election.”

“Concede my ass. I'm lodging a grievance. Pete Packard's back in town. I'm taking this to the International.”

“Uh, Pop,” Bobbyjay said.

“I told you to call your fiancée.”

Bobbyjay sighed and hit speed dial on his cell. “Daze?”

“Oh, my God, Bobbyjay.” She was whispering. In the background he could hear Marty Dit roaring.

“Gimme the phone,” Bobby Senior said.

“Call him yourself!” Daisy was saying at the other end.

Bobby Senior's cell phone rang just as he was reaching for Bobbyjay's. “You pig fucker!” Bobby Senior screamed into his own cell phone, and Bobbyjay moved to the other end of the TV room. “So much for your fuckin' peace pipe! The same time you're cryin' crocodile tears, you're doing this!”

From Bobbyjay's cell, Daisy said, “How's he taking it?”

Bobbyjay turned the phone toward the patriarch for ten seconds. Bobbyjay watched his grandfather's face turn red, then purple, then a scary navy blue.

“This is going all the way to the International!” Bobby Senior screamed. “Do you hear me? Are you listening to me, you fucking douchebag?”

“This isn't Goomba's letter,” Daisy said to Bobbyjay when he put his phone back to his ear.

“I know that. Pop will figure it out too, once he stops yelling.”

“I think we have a problem,” she said unnecessarily.

In her hospital room Daisy watched her grandfather struggle to get a curse word in edgewise.
That tears it,
she thought.
We're sunk. It's all over. I'll have to run away with Bobbyjay just to keep from getting my kneecaps busted.

But if she did that, she'd never work in the Local again.

Oh, God, Pete Packard would blame her and Bobbyjay.

Her cousin Wesley let himself into her hospital room while Goomba was gasping for breath. The kid looked anxious and triumphant. He had a videotape in his hand. “Now you'll see!” he muttered to her. He brushed past her and popped the tape into the TV aimed at her bed.

“That is not the letter I sent!” Goomba kept yelling over and over.

“Goomba?” Daisy said, but he was past hearing her. “Too late,” she said into her phone to Bobbyjay. “He's losing it.”

“Goddammit, Bobby, you know me better than that!” Goomba yelled. “Fuck, at least I can spell!”

Wesley jogged Goomba's elbow and pointed at the TV. “Grandpa, I think you better look at this.”

“We're going to have to explain to Pete Packard how this fell apart,” Daisy whispered into the phone to Bobbyjay. “What's your grandfather saying?”

“He's gloating about what he'll do to Marty Dit.”

Goomba stopped yelling suddenly. His glare was glued to the TV.

From where she sat, Daisy could hear Bobby Senior screaming through the phone how he was calling in a grievance to the International.

Goomba's face split on an evil grin. He put the phone to his lips. “Go ahead. Lodge a grievance,” he said in a sinister voice.

In Daisy's ear, Bobbyjay said, “Did he have a coronary over there? What's happening? Bobby Senior's gonna burst a blood vessel any minute.”

Daisy was looking at the TV. “Oh, shit.” Her Goomba looked darker and eviller than she'd ever seen him.

“What's happening?” Bobbyjay demanded.

She told him.

A few hours later, the union office filled up with sweaty, hostile Mortons and Ditorellis. Muriel at the front desk looked at Daisy's bandaged head. “You all right?”

“Peachy,” Daisy said with a tight smile.

“Do you have a TV-VCR rig?” Wesley said importantly. “We'll need one right away.”

Pete came out of his office. Daisy went cold at the look on his face when he saw them. “Good,” he said. “I can bitch you all out at once.” He stood aside, holding the door wide.

They filed in, the Mortons first: Bobby Senior, Bobby Junior, Rob the Snob, Raybob, and Bobbert, who gave Daisy a superior sneer as he passed her. Then Marty Ditorelli led in Wesley, Tony, Vince, and Mikey Ray. Bobbyjay and Daisy brought up the rear. She felt the heat of Pete's glare on the back of her neck.

Pete shut the door. He took up a position behind his desk. He put his knuckles on the desk. “Are you people out of your minds?”

“I have a grievance,” Bobby Senior whined.

“Shut the fuck up,” Pete whined back, imitating his intonation exactly. “Are you aware of the scrutiny being aimed at union elections all over the country right now? Do you know Chicago looks really, really good—on paper—so far? In a week we're gonna have reps from every major local and affiliate in the country comin' in to see how it's done right. And this is what they're gonna see.” Pete barked, “Heads have gotta roll!”

Daisy jumped. Bobbyjay took her hand.

Pete moved from the desk to stand in front of Bobby Senior. “Look at you. You're like a bunch of kids scrappin' on the playground. Senior members of my home Local. Members of the Executive Board.”

“I have a grievance,” Bobby Senior repeated, sounding puzzled.

Pete stopped in front of Daisy's Goomba. She cringed. She'd never heard anybody dress Goomba down, except her Mom.

“What the fuck were you thinkin', Marty?”

Goomba looked Pete Packard in the eye. He seemed smug, which was clearly annoying the Mortons. Daisy didn't think Pete liked it much either. “That's not my letter, Pete.”

“Your name and address are on every envelope I've seen so far,” Pete said, clearly struggling with his temper.

The door opened and Muriel rolled in the VCR rig. Wesley leaped forward with his tape.

“What's this?” Pete demanded.

Daisy squeezed Bobbyjay's hand. He put his arm around her.

Goomba said, “It's my defense, Pete. My explanation. I got nothing else to say,” he said with what Daisy felt to be admirable restraint, considering the silent waves of unholy rejoicing that emanated from the Mortons.

The tape rolled. Daisy kept her eyes Bobbyjay's Dad and the moron Bobbert. Wesley turned up the sound, which was just as cruddy as the grainy visual.

“This is gonna be the greatest,” a familiar voice gloated.

“Gimme the box,” said another familiar voice.

Bobby Senior, Rob the Snob, and Pete Packard moved closer to the screen. Bobby Junior's eyes bugged out. His jaw dropped. Bobbert rolled his eyes and then put his face in his hands.

The Ditorellis just stood.

There was a long spell of rustling.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Papercut.”

“Don't bleed all over. That's evidence.”

“What fuckin' evidence?”