Fools Paradise (16 page)

He swiveled his cigar to the other side of his face and leaned across his desk, eyeing Daisy narrowly. “I want us to be a good example. You gettin' my drift here? Every warm body that gets sent out of this office is an example. Even you,” he said with disgust. “I'm on the line here with you. On your one side you're a walkin' candy store. On your other side, I got both Marty Dit and Bobby Morton Senior askin' for favors for you.”

“I'm not asking for a favor.”

Pete Packard slapped the desk in front of him. “There's easier favors I can do for them!”

Daisy shrugged. “Okay. What can I do for you?”

She watched his color darken another shade as innuendo bloomed inside his head.

He said, “Keep your head down. Nobody likes a mouthy broad.” She smiled, and Packard stammered, “I—I mean, do what you're told. Show up on time.”

“Bring my tools. Clean and sober,” she finished for him.

As if she hadn't spoken, Pete Packard said, “I'm sendin' you to the United Center tomorrow for the Whitewash put-in. It's up to the steward whether he keeps you on to run the show. Be there at 7:30 a.m.”

“With my tools, clean and sober.”

“Shaddap.” Pete Packard eyed her, looking frustrated. “What did Badger do to get nutted? If I may ask,” he added with exaggerated courtesy.

“Stepped over the line.”

He showed surprise. “When?”

“Nine years ago.” Daisy picked up her water bottle. “I may look sweet, but I carry a grudge forever.”

“You're a Ditorelli,” Pete Packard said morosely. “Gidaddahere.”

When she told Bobbyjay she was on the Whitewash put-in at the United Center, he overreacted.

“See, this is why your grandfather worries about you. You know that gig is all over roadies.”

“And?” Daisy said, mystified. “My Dad was a roadie.”

“And he ran away with a dancer,” Bobbyjay said agitatedly. “She wasn't the first one he made a pass at, but she was the first one who said yes.”

“Is that true?” she said, interested. “Mom won't tell me anything.”

His gaze shifted. “Er. My point is, there's gonna be over a hundred guys there. It's a shame I'm not on the call,” he added. “I can't expect Badger keep an eye on 'em all.”

Daisy's blood pressure shot up. “You can't expect—you can't expect Badger—”

“Well, somebody's got to look out for you. It ain't always a pat on the butt. Ask Liz Ryback.”

“The non-dyke?”

Bobbyjay cringed and looked over his shoulder. “You may as well know now, Daze. It's—harder being a new woman in the Local than it is being a new guy. Liz got the hair yanked out of her head one night by one of the brothers. Wasn't taking his meds, I guess.” Daisy felt herself go cold. Bobbyjay nodded. “That's why your grandfather's so bent about you workin' the street. Especially,” he said, coughing delicately, “especially with this thing between our families.”

Daisy looked over his head, thinking. “I'm surprised you were willing to get me the job.”

He blinked. “You asked.”

Oh, right. All she had to do was ask.

“You want to call in sick? Pete Packard won't be mad.”

“No,” she said bitterly, “he'll just think I'm a Ditorelli princess and write me off. I—I want this gig, Bobbyjay.” She thought about Liz Ryback, six feet of muscular non-dyke womanhood, getting her hair ripped out, and shivered. Suddenly she wasn't indignant about Bobbyjay and Badger teaming up to watch over her any more. “I'll be careful.”

Bobbyjay looked relieved. “I know you will. You're not stupid.” That choked her up.
He doesn't think I'm stupid!
“It's just, you don't know what these clowns think is funny. And you don't know your way around yet.” He put his hand over hers. She looked at it and, though he flushed, he didn't take it away. “Promise me you'll do what Badger says.”

“I promise.”

At six o'clock next morning Bobbyjay answered his cell. “Yo, Bobbyjay, this is Badger Kenack. I got called off the Whitewash in. Hotel industrial, that fuckin' Kischmedling sound system nobody else can run.”

“Couldn't you turn down the money?” Bobbyjay said, annoyed.

“I could turn down the money, but the office wants me on that sound system.”

“So who's going to watch Daisy?”

“You are,” Badger told Bobbyjay. “I told Jack Yu to put you in my spot.”

“But I'm at the opera!” Bobbyjay squeaked.

“I know. I told Jack to expect you for the performance. Show up after seven.”

Bobbyjay whooshed out a sigh. “All right. Uh, thanks, Badger.”

First his family, now Badger. Pretty soon the whole fuckin' Local would be calling him off the job to put out their fires.

At least Badger was thinking of Daisy's safety.

But she would be unprotected for the whole put-in. Bobbyjay's stomach twisted.

For two bits he would call in sick himself and go down to the United Center. Try to bump somebody off the call, muscle his way onto Jack's list.

That would look good when the Opera House found out.

Sighing in frustration, he shouldered his toolbag and trudged out to his Jeep. Daisy would have to manage on her own for the first twelve hours.

“That's okay,” she said, when he called her to tell her he couldn't give her a ride to the United Center. “The Beemer came today.” She sounded depressed.

“You'll be fine,” he said, praying he was right. “Just do what your department head tells you and don't mouth off.”

“I'm not worried about the gig. It's this car. Goomba's been crowing for days about giving me a new car, and it's a bajillion-dollar BMW. I'll never hear the last of it.”

Bobbyjay relaxed. She could handle her grandfather. “Welcome to the stagehand world.”

“A rock show ‘in!' Man, I am soooo jealous!” Wesley had said at six next morning while Daisy showed him how to run the espresso machine.

“Goomba likes it with two shots of espresso. Give him the whole milk. He thinks it's half-and-half but he mustn't have all that fat. And wash out the cream jug when breakfast is over.”

“You working the show as well as the in?” Wesley had said wistfully. “Nice sugar.”

“I guess. If Jack Yu says. The street's pretty busy this weekend,” she said, proud that she knew that stuff. “Okay, the waffles are in the oven. Remember to stick 'em in the toaster for one and a half pop-ups before you bring them to the table. I made honey butter, which he loves, so he might not be too grouchy that they're not fresh.”

“He ought to be grateful you've got a job,” Wesley said, glowering. “Those bums Tony and Vince don't hardly do anything except eat and sleep.”

“Thanks for covering me, buddy,” Daisy said, giving him a smooch behind the ear. “You're the best.” She dashed out to the new Beemer with her toolbag over her shoulder so she wouldn't have to watch him try to hide the boner in his jeans.

It seemed all she did these days was exploit men's weakness. If she weren't so aware of the hugeness of the world, dangerous and full of stuff she didn't know, she'd feel more remorse. Even the knowledge that Badger was hovering didn't help.

She had no brains or experience. If all she had was booty, well, all right then. She'd shake it at the world, until they all laid themselves down and howled.

And she'd try to learn. Really, really fast.

An hour later she was remembering that even booty had its limitations.

“Out of the way, Ditso-relli,” Bobbert Morton brayed. He butted her in the back with the end of the truss he was holding.

“I can't,” she said out of the side of her mouth. They stood on the ramp leading off the truck onto the loading dock, waiting to bring their loads out on stage. “There's a line of guys in front of me.”

“Ditso-relli!” Bobbert said again and laughed coarsely at his own wit. He bumped her again.

“Listen, you,” she hissed, rounding on him as well as she could with a hundred-foot coil of multi-cable cutting into her shoulder. “You're shorter than my cousin Tony. Want to bet I can't hit your nuts first try?”

“Just a joke!” Bobbert said quickly. “Haw, haw! Got ya!” His eyes showed more anger than fear.

It was going to be a long day.

“It's like this.” Jack Yu's non-dyke wife told Daisy at the morning break. “There are guys in this Local who ought to have to catch their own food, know what I mean?”

“Uh, no,” Daisy said, deeply grateful that Liz didn't seem to hold a grudge.

“They're bored. They're no Einsteins. And they have nothing to do all day long except think about who has more seniority than whom, who received a call they wanted, who makes more money, and who can get out of actually working while still getting paid.” She jerked her head in the direction of the Morton clan, who were looking in Daisy's direction and guffawing. “Those hyenas are prime specimens.”

“You talk fancy,” Daisy blurted.

“It annoys the gentlemen,” Liz said serenely. “We use what we've got.”

Daisy thought for the millionth time of her wasted years in school. “All I've got is my tits.”

Liz Ryback looked her over critically. “Oh, I think there's more in there.”

“You think so?” Daisy felt pathetic gratitude. “Pete Packard says I'm mouthy.”

“Mouth is good,” Liz said, “But it helps to know when it's appropriate.” Her cultured North Shore voice coarsened. “Now I'm gonna hafta put you on truss focus with Bobbert Morton.”

Daisy went cold. “He'll kill me.”

“Nobody else wants to work with him and they all have seniority over you. Relax. Think of this as an opportunity to study your enemy.”

Daisy eyed her with horror, thinking of a whole afternoon watching her back, getting stuff dropped on her toes, not getting told what she needed to know so that she wouldn't burn herself on a lighting instrument or have to do all her work twice.