Fools Paradise (34 page)

“Why?” Bobby snarled.

Marty grabbed his old friend by the shoulder. “Because we used to be so close. I've missed you, ya stupid old fuck. We were quite a team. Now look at us. We could have spent the last thirty-odd years chasing tail, but noooo. We hadda fight. Add up all that lost poon? That's pathetic.”

Bobby laughed, shaking his head. Marty thought his eyes looked wet and rheumy. His nose was lit up like a stoplight. Christ, they were both so old. What a waste.

There, across the lawn, his granddaughter was talking to her cousin Tony. His heart still double-clutched when he remembered Tony's phone call from the Opera House and how she had looked in that hospital bed, all bandaged up. They seemed to be getting along now. And Tony would leave Bobbyjay alone. But would Bobby's morons go after Daisy again?

“I should never have involved Badger,” he said abruptly. “Our kids.”

“Fuck,” Bobby agreed, looking hunted. “What'm I supposed to do with that son of mine?” He shook his head. “I'm sorry about that letter, Marty. Swear to god, I didn't know nothin' about it. Half the time I don't know what they're gonna do.” He hesitated. “Your car. I woke up and there they were. They'd already done it.”

Well, there it was, Bobby's underbelly. Marty wondered why he didn't want to kick him any more. He felt a hot spot in the center of his chest.
Irene.
Daisy glowed in the sun with Bobbyjay's ring on her finger.

“They want to make you happy.”

“Is that what it is?” Bobby said with heavy irony.

“I'm worried about my granddaughter. Nobody wishes her ill in this Local—”

“Except my two dumbfucks,” Bobby said. “I know. I know.” He sighed. “I'll try and call 'em off.”

Marty hesitated. What the hell, he and Bobby had already done their worst to each other, it wasn't like he could get any madder.

“Try apologizing to them for dragging them into this,” Marty suggested. He laughed shortly. “Badger already told me the feud's off, far as he's concerned. A week ago. My army's deserting.”

Bobby looked at everything except Marty. “Your girl told my son I was making a patsy out of him.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out at the softball game, the guys around the kegs, the kites and frisbees and the kids squealing and running, the women at their tables loaded with food. It felt good to be standing next to Bobby Morton again.

“Want to know a secret?” Bobby said abruptly.

“Sure.”

“I hate the fucking Executive Board. I hate the work, I hate riding herd on the morons, and I especially hate running for election.”

Marty couldn't help it, he started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a laugh. “Think I don't know that?” He couldn't stop laughing.

“Well, thanks for fuckin' nothing!” Bobby roared. “Between my dopes who needed work and you running against me every single goddam time, I been on this fuckin' Board for twenty-one years!”

“We make a good team, don't we?” Marty said, wiping his eyes, still chuckling. “Kept you on the Board for twenty-one years.”

Bobby swung at him.

Marty grabbed him by the head. “Kept you on the Board for twenty-one years!” he howled, while Bobby landed feeble punches on his sides. They swayed, arms locked, until Bobby body-checked him and they fell with a thump that knocked the laugh out of Marty. They rolled away from each other, gasping for air.

“Christ, I'm old,” Bobby grumbled.

“I'm afraid to look at you,” Marty said. “If you look like shit, what do I look like?”

“Let's get a beer.”

Daisy's cousin Tony was bright red.

“Look, uh, Killer, no hard feelings, right? You'll put in a word with Bobbyjay for me?”

Daisy kept a straight face. She was watching her grandfather heading for the beer kegs with his arm over Bobby Senior's shoulders. This was the best day.

“Sure, Tony.” God, this was sweet. She might never have to kick anybody in the nuts again. “You could mention to Vince that he'll catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Ha ha.”

She assumed that was all the apology she was going to get. But he still stood there, shuffling. “You're really marrying Bobbyjay Morton?”

Drawing in a big breath for luck, she said, “Yup.”
If he can handle his family half as well as I'm handling mine.
“Why?” She glanced at Tony, who was staring at the ground.

“Just—you're a really great cook,” he blurted. “I'll miss it.”

Touched, she said, “Thank you, Tony. Thanks for saying that.”

“Sure, hey, forget it.” He wheeled and made a beeline for the softball field, where Vince was teaching a kid to pitch.

Bobbyjay couldn't get near his Dad right away. Too many guys were toasting him.

“Jesus, Bobby Junior, you always land on your feet, don'tcha?”

“Congratulations, Bobby Junior! I hear your kid is gettin' on the Board!”

“Way to go, Bobby Junior!”

“Hey, Bobby Junior, I got some better beer in my car. You want some?”

Dad seemed a little dazed. When Pete had started his speech, Bobbyjay had wondered if his father would be exposed as the writer of the hate letter. Dad had sure looked worried. From the way nobody'd wanted to stand next to him, it had seemed as if the verdict of gossip was, Bobby Junior was guilty.

Now all of that was forgotten. Everybody wanted to suck up to the father of the newest member of the Board. Dad looked dizzy, but he was grinning.

“What the fuck is this, a convention? If you're not drinking, get away from the beer!” It was Bobby Senior and, miracle of miracles, Marty Dit by his side. “Bobby Junior, I gotta talk to you.”

Bobbyjay hesitated, then decided to hang around.

The suck-ups melted away, leaving the Mortons and Marty Dit in control of the kegs. Grandma Irene stood there smiling at everybody, like a parole officer going soft on her pack of ex-cons.

“I got something to tell you,” Bobby Senior said to Bobbyjay's Dad.

Grandma Irene took Marty Dit's elbow. “Can I lure you away from the powwow?”

Marty Dit smiled at her. “You can lure me anywhere.”

Bobby Senior seemed to breathe easier when they had gone. “Good.” He faced Bobby Junior. “This is just for the three of us.” He glanced at Bobbyjay and back to his son. “We all know you sent that letter. It cost me the Board seat. Bobbyjay's pickin' that up, so no harm done, it turns out. But you know you fucked up, kid,” he said to Bobby Junior.

Bobbyjay made a sound in his throat. This was not the spin he wanted placed on today's events.

Bobby Junior looked mutinous. “I know,” he muttered.

“The thing is,” Bobby Senior said roughly, “you wouldn't of done it if me and Marty Dit wasn't always in a fight. That was my doing and I apologize for it.” He took a huge breath and held it. “Whew. So don't be messing with the Ditorellis no more.”

Bobby Junior stared at him. “Daisy said you made me your patsy,” he said with wonder.

Bobby Senior winced. “That girl's got a tongue like a fuckin' razor.” He glanced at Bobbyjay and said hurriedly, “But she's right. It was all my fault. And I'm sorry for it. I'm just glad Bobbyjay was there to fix it up.”

“I did not fix it up,” Bobbyjay said firmly. He tried a glare on Dad and switched it to his grandfather. “Daisy and Pete fixed it. I can't do any more fixing. If somebody does something, I can't cover for y—them ever again. You heard Pete. If I did cover for somebody, and Pete heard about it, I would be putting two whole families out of work for the next six months.” He crossed his fingers. “Besides, it would be wrong.”

Bobbyjay looked sternly at his grandfather. “I have to talk to my Dad alone now.”

Bobby Junior turned to his father with incredulity in his face. “What's got into him?”

Bobby Senior shrugged. “You see what I'm up against. Can't do nothin' with the kid, now he's Mister Important.”

“Please, Pop. Now?”

Bobby Senior rolled his eyes. “I'm never gonna hear the last of this, am I?” he muttered. He drew a plastic cupful of beer and stumped away.

“What do you want?” Dad growled, like a bear on a chain.

Bobbyjay took a deep breath. “I want your advice.”

“Yeah, sure. Shit. You don't even want to be on the Executive Board! Do ya?” Dad challenged.

“Well, not exactly. But I'm getting married. I feel like I want to do better. She—” This wasn't an admission Bobbyjay would have chosen to make to his father, but somehow it came out anyway. “She makes me think I can be somebody. I don't get her. And that's what I want your advice about.”

“Women?” Dad snorted. “I was divorced by the time you was twelve.”

“Well, you're older than me,” Bobbyjay pursued. “You're my Dad. Who else am I gonna ask?”

Dad looked into the plastic beer cup in his hand. “Your mother thought I was somebody,” he said.

“Dad, you are somebody. You're my Dad.” When his father looked wary, he said, “That's a big deal to me.”

“Even if I'm just another mope from the office?” Dad said wryly.

Bobbyjay threw his arm over his shoulders. “Dad. We are the Bobby Mortons. We're not just a mope from the office. We are
the
mopes from the office. We're the fuckin' House Bobbies. Everywhere they look, there we are. They gotta have us. We practically
are
Chicago deckhands.”

His father shook free and gave Bobbyjay a punch on the arm that sent him reeling. Then he poured his own beer into the grass. “C'mon. I know a guy who's got some
good
beer.”

“Mom, you really don't have to get involved,” Daisy said for the third time.

“Nonsense. I blame myself for all this kerfluffle you've had since you started work. If I had just kept my eye on Marty, it never would have happened.” Mom stabbed into a bowl of potato salad with a plastic spoon.

“Yes, it would. You can't control the Mortons.” Rats, now she'd mentioned the Mortons again.

Mom wiped her hands on a paper towel. “How do I look?” She fluffed her hair and tugged down on the hem of her knit top, a top she'd borrowed from Daisy that morning,
because I don't have anything suitable.
Mom's cleavage popped. Daisy hadn't seen Mom with cleavage since ever. “Can I borrow your lipstick?”

“Uh, Mom.”

“Sweetheart, have I told you how proud I am of you becoming a stagehand?” Mom tipped a chrome pan lid on edge and painted her mouth with Daisy's Screaming Red lip color. “You're so brave! You made me realize how bored and fed up I've become with attorneys. Maybe I should ask your husband for a job.”

“Uh, Mom,” Daisy repeated, feeling sweat prickle her neck and the hairs rise up on her arms.

Mom contemplated her reflection. “I feel like I've been drying up in that office.” Now Daisy noticed that Mom was wearing a tight, short skirt, too.

“Or maybe I'll go to law school.” Mom capped the lipstick and handed it back to Daisy. “I'm vested in the firm. Trust me, it'll be cheaper for them to hire me back as an associate than it would be to wait fifteen years and pension me off.” She patted Daisy on the shoulder. “But first we're going to solve your little problem.”

Open-mouthed and breathless, Daisy watched her mother sashay out onto the softball field, take Bobbert Morton by the ear, and drag him away down the path into the woods.

“What was that all about?” Bobbyjay said beside her.

Daisy laughed nervously. “God knows. Do you think menopause makes women horny?” Thinking of her Mom and Bobbert Morton made her squeeze her shoulders and rattle her head. “Brrr!”

Bobbyjay was staring down the path. “Wow. Nice skirt.”

She slapped his shoulder. “Bobbyjay Morton, did you talk to your Dad?”