Fools Paradise (33 page)

Bobbyjay's back tensed. The sarcastic sonofagun had a golden opportunity to soapbox and even Pete wouldn't be able to stop him. Everybody in the Local wanted to hear his comments about the fateful letter and his old enemy's downfall.

He heard Daisy whisper, “I love you Goomba!”

Bobbyjay smiled. He felt her hand touch his arm briefly.

Across the circle, Badger Kenack, looking swarthy and sardonic, raised his beer in a toast.

“This is my last year running for the Executive Board,” Marty Dit croaked. “I'm withdrawing from the race. I hope all of you,” he said slowly, and turned to Daisy and Bobbyjay, or maybe toward Bobby Senior on Pete's other side, “all of you will vote for a great guy, Bobbyjay Morton. I—I trust him with my own granddaughter so I think you can trust him too.” With that Marty Dit leaned across Daisy and shook first Bobbyjay's hand and then, after a hesitation, Bobby Senior's.

The stagehands went nuts.

Pete raised his beer and roared something but Bobbyjay couldn't hear it. Everybody jumped forward to shake hands with the five of them. Buffetted by congratulatory thumps on the back, Bobbyjay remembered that Pete had served thirty years on the Exec Board before being elevated, like a Blessed finally making Sainthood, to the International.
Crafty old showman.

In the middle of the cheers he looked across the softball field and saw his father standing like a guard dog over the kegs. Bobbert slouched at his side. Bobbyjay's heart sank.

“Congratulations, Bobbyjay,” Vince Ditorelli muttered.

“Thanks.” Bobbyjay shook Vince's hand as if there was nothing between them but brotherly love. Vince turned on his heel and walked away.

Across the grass, glowering with his mouth full, stood Daisy's cousin Wesley.

That was one problem Bobbyjay could solve.

“Hey, Pete,” he said. “I need a favor.”

Pete muttered, “Already? Kid, you're runnin' in the red.”

Bobbyjay met Pete's eye. “I don't think so, sir.”

Instantly the guys noticed what was going on. That zone of silence opened again and Bobbyjay leaned in toward Pete's ear, feeling odd. How many times had he watched his grandfather putting his head together with the movers and shakers?

“I'm just batting cleanup, sir,” Bobbyjay murmured. “Like you told me.”

Pete looked wary. “What.”

“Marty Dit's got a grandson dyin' to work. He's just a pup.” Bobbyjay lifted his head and caught Badger's eye. Marty Dit didn't say a word.

Sonofagun. Badger came right over.

“Badger will vouch for him,” Bobbyjay said.

“Vouch for who?” Badger said in an undervoice.

“Wesley Clemson,” Bobbyjay said. “Wally's kid.”

Badger turned to Pete. “He's a good pup.” He pointed across the crowd to where Wesley stood.

Wesley saw them all looking at him. Bobbyjay smiled at him and the kid turned red.

Pete nodded. “Send him over when Corky gets here. Anything else?” he said with heavy courtesy to Bobbyjay.

His heart in his mouth, Bobbyjay smiled. “Not right now, sir.”

Pete glanced across the softball field at Bobby Junior and Bobbert. “You're on your own, kid. You know it ain't over yet. Badger, you got any fuckin' whisky?” he said, dismissing the rest of them.

Bobbyjay was left with Daisy and Marty Dit and his grandfather.

“Oh, Bobbyjay!” Daisy said, throwing her arms around his neck. “Wesley will be thrilled!”

Now to find Daisy's Mom and his mystery guest. Bobbyjay bit his lip.
Timing is everything on this show.

“Have you seen Fran?” he whispered to Daisy.

“Shh, here's Goomba,” she whispered back.

“Thanks for speaking up for the kid,” Marty Dit said, squeezing Bobbyjay's hand. Stagehands all over the lawn were watching.

“You're welcome, sir.”

Marty Dit looked at Daisy. “Think I'll go get a drink now.”

“No, wait,” Daisy said, and whispered to Bobbyjay, “I see my mom talking to a lady over by the port-o-potties. Shall I—”

“Go,” Bobbyjay hissed. “Go, go.”

“Goomba, come on,” she said, and towed the old guy away.

Bobbyjay took a deep breath. Two down, three to go. “Pop?”

Bobby Senior turned to him, his eyes glittering. “You're catchin' on, kid.”

Here goes.
“Pop, I need your help with Bobby Junior.”

Pop wiggled his eyebrows. “You're doing fine. You're steppin' into my shoes, you gotta figure out how to handle him.”

“Can't do that, sir,” Bobbyjay said firmly. “He's my father. It's a top-down world.”

“Fuckin' right,” Pop put in.

Bobbyjay pushed ahead. “You're the boss of the family because you're the number one Bobby. That puts my Dad
over
me. Like he always says. And he's right. It's not my place to handle him.”

“It is if I say it is,” Pop said, looking annoyed.

Bobbyjay shrugged. “Oookay, if that's how you want it. Only, if I handle him—and I ain't sayin' I know how to do that—what's to stop me from handling you? For that matter, how do I know you won't try to step in and take over from me?”

Pop looked sly. “Well, of course I'll take over from you. I'm number one Bobby.”

For once Bobbyjay was glad he was the tallest Bobby in the family. He loomed over his grandfather and lowered his voice to a stagehand growl.

“Well, you won't. I ain't taking any more punches to prove nothin' for you anymore.”

Pop's eyes widened. Bobbyjay did his best to look like a genie that's finally got out of the bottle.

Pop said, “All this talk don't get your father to stop makin' a monkey out of himself and me.”

Bobbyjay made his voice normal. “Not my department, sir. Be reasonable. He's my Dad. You're
his
Dad.”

“He's a roaring idiot,” Pop said roundly.

“He's all the Dad I got,” Bobbyjay insisted. “Just like you're all the Dad he's got. He listened to you before I was even born. What happened?”

“Don't get fresh, kid.”

Bobbyjay had never tried to argue with Bobby Senior before. God, the old guy sucked at arguing. No wonder he always pulled rank and yelled instead.

“I'm just sayin'. Every kid needs his dad, Pop. If I take over like you want me to, I lose my Dad.”

A lump started in his throat.
Stick to logic. It doesn't hurt so much.

He added, “And it's not like Dad's gonna go away, either. You think it's embarrassing now? You don't stop him, it'll be just like you and Marty Dit all these years, only this time it'll be
inside our family.
For the rest of his life.”

That hit home. He pictured his grandfather realizing it.

Pop burst out, “When he was an apprentice he gave me no end of bullshit. Wouldn't listen to reason. Hasn't listened to me since. I couldn't figger him out. After a while I just—I just didn't know what to do with him. So I washed my hands,” Pop finished, sounding bewildered. “I'm only human. He wasn't a bad boy. He just wouldn't listen to me no more.”

Bobbyjay saw the opening he needed. “I'm sure he says the same thing to Rob the Snob about me.” Pop shot him a shrewd look. Bobbyjay said, feeling like a puppeteer, “Comes a time when kids are just outa control.”

Pop rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Bobbyjay turned the last screw. “Forget it, Pop. I'm not playing the patsy for you any more.”

“Who ast you to?” Pop bristled. “This is between me and your Dad. None of your beeswax, short stuff.”

Bobbyjay didn't point out that he was taller by a head. “Well, okay then. Just remember what I said.”

Pop clasped his shoulder and gave him a shake. “It'll be all right. Gimme a day or two. We'll handle him.”

But Bobbyjay rolled his eyes skeptically and walked away.

Every stagehand within thirty feet heard Pop yell, “Hey! You punk! You listenin' to me? I ain't done talkin' yet!”

Bobbyjay kept walking.

Now where was Daisy? This was her cue.

Bobbyjay was everybody's hero today. The crowd parted for him. Every face grinning at him.

Finally he found Daisy hiding behind a tree.

“How they doing?” he whispered to her.

“Eek! Oh, it's you.” She pointed past the tree. “Check it out.”

Bobbyjay peeked. Halfway down a path into the woods, Marty Dit stood in leafy shade with a tall, straight-backed woman in a dark suit. Marty's balding head was bent, almost touching her white hair.

“Woo hoo.”

“Yeah. I hate to break it up,” Daisy said.

“I'll do it. You go find my Dad and get back to me. If you can. Sheesh, I can't walk five feet without somebody shakin' my hand today,” Bobbyjay marveled.

“That's because you're my hero,” she said, and kissed him on the ear.

He wrapped her in a quick hug and kissed her back. “C'mon, we gotta get moving. Hit 'em fast. Dad's probably by the kegs.”

Daisy flashed away toward the softball field and Bobbyjay headed down the path to the big reunion.

“Hi, Grandma. Do you have time to talk to Bobby Senior?”

Marty Dit looked with amazement at the woman who had left him for Bobby Morton. “You look terrific, Irene,” he said for the fourth time. She looked way too classy for this bunch of bums. Once, he had thought he would still resent her if they met again. Now he felt nothing but astonishment that someone so classy had considered marrying not one stagehand but two.

She said, “Marty,” and smiled, and his chest went hot. “Hello, Bobbyjay, dear. I suppose I'd better see your grandfather or these two will be fighting again.”

She made as if to slip away and Marty grabbed her hand. “That's over. We called it all off today.”

“Did you talk?” Even the crinkles around her eyes were beautiful.

“Not exactly.” Marty felt like a toad, holding her hand.

She smiled again. “Give me a few minutes with him. Then we can talk again.” She kissed his cheek and walked down the path toward the picnic.

Bossy woman. How had he forgotten that? Strange feelings rocketed through Marty. Hard to believe she'd been living an ordinary life all these years, in some artsy fartsy town in New Mexico, married to some schmoe who sculpted or something. Dead now. She seemed to miss the schmoe.

But she couldn't help smiling at me, Marty Ditorelli, after all these years.
He felt hot all over, as if he'd just drunk his first glass of wine.

“Who was that, Goomba?” Tony stood at his elbow, a beer in his hand.

“That would have been your grandmother, if things had been different.”

Tony looked after her with his jaw open. “That's Irene Morton?”

“She's Irene somebody else now. Divorced Bobby thirty-five years ago.” Amazing. He'd wasted thirty-five years hating Bobby for stealing her and then driving her away. He felt light as a feather. “Bobbyjay invited her.”

Tony scowled. “Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.” Marty turned energetically to his problem grandson. “You owe Bobbyjay. He's doing good. You better make nice to him. He's marrying Daisy, so make nice to her, too. Because, are you listening to me? He's your voice on the Board.”

“That'll be the fuckin' day,” said Tony.

Marty sighed. “Who else will get you good jobs? You and Vince had both better behave for Bobbyjay.”

Tony eyed him uneasily. “We never needed no fuckin' Mortons before. You take care of us, Goomba.”

Marty's eyes tracked Irene as she walked across the grass. “I may be taking a vacation. Get out of town for a few weeks. About time I looked into retiring. Someplace warm.”

“What?
Retire?”
Tony looked appalled. “Where?”

“Maybe Florida. Maybe New Mexico.”

He left Tony staring after him like a mouth-breather, and went in search of Irene.

He found her with Bobby Morton. She smiled again when she saw him coming. Damn, he could get used to that. Bobby actually looked glad to see him, too. Marty felt very strange.

Irene took his hand when he came up to them. “You two have some talking to do.” She kissed Bobby's cheek and then Marty's. “I want to see some people.” And she walked off, leaving them face to face.

Marty stared after her. The nerve! “That's a stagehand's wife all right. Christ on a crutch.” Awkwardly he turned to his ex-best friend.

Bobby was looking like he'd been sideswiped. “Holy shit, Marty. They're on the rampage again.” He sounded shamefaced. “Your granddaughter's bad enough. But Irene.”

Marty remembered something Daisy had said to him. He suggested it now. “When you love two people at once, you shouldn't have to choose.”

With a quick look, Bobby met his eyes, then looked away. “We both lost out.”

After years and years and fucking years of being on the losing end, Marty felt Bobby had no business whimpering. But all he said was, “You never got back in touch with me when she left you. You could have called. I'd have shook hands then.”

“How could I do that?” Bobby sounded plaintive. “I was supposed to be the winner. I got everything we both wanted.” He stared after Irene. “And then I blew it.”

“She probably would have left me, too. I worked just as much as you did,” Marty offered.
Yeah, but she invited me to visit her in New Mexico.
Heroically, he didn't rub that into Bobby.

Bobby nodded, staring at the sky. “I had to keep winning. Otherwise I was the loser, too.”

Stifling a chuckle, Marty said, “It's not so bad once you get used to it.”

Bobby said sharply, “You drove me crazy for years, running against me for the Board. Wasn't 'til lately I realized your brains was working against you.”

Marty smile twisted. “I didn't want to win. I wanted to bug you.”