“No,” he croaked. “No. You’re my preziosa.”
“Of course I am. So if I get out of line you hand me over to somebody else to discipline. That’s your problem, isn’t it, Goomba? Discipline with love. Hard to do.”
“Daisy, I—whatever Bobbyjay said, I didn’t want those men at the cafeteria to bother you.”
So he understood. Maybe there was hope. But she had more to say.
Fire spurted up into her throat from her heart. “Actually I was thinking of Cousin Tony. He’s your enforcer too, isn’t he?”
“What?” Goomba looked bewildered. “What about Tony?” It sickened her to realize that he would let the thing in the cafeteria drop if he could. His conscience had to be tender. And yet he must have thought he was right.
She took a deep breath. Her hands, folded in front of her, were cold as ice. “Tony lived with us before, remember? When I was sixteen?”
A frown darkened Goomba’s face. “I remember.”
“And one day you threw him out.”
Goomba straightened. “He was bothering my angelina.” Poor old guy seemed to think he was on solid moral ground. He made a superb gesture. “For that, he was banished.”
Daisy threw a glance at Badger’s back. “And then Badger caught me in a karaoke bar, cutting class, and hauled me back here by the ear, and you grounded me for life, and I’ve been in the doghouse ever since. And about a year ago I started begging for a job in the Local and, a couple months later, look who moves back in.”
Goomba stuck his chin out. “I am the master in this house.”
“Of course you are. And you have a soft spot for your angelina, so you don’t know how to keep her down. But Tony does.”
“He wouldn’t dare bother you under my roof!”
Daisy’s patience snapped. “Oh, bull! He ‘bothers’ me, as you put it, every day. Every single day, a pinch on the butt, a grab at my boob, a squeeze, a dirty word. Why do you think he and Wesley are always fighting? Tony thinks it’s my fault you threw him out last time, so he makes a point to teach me how wrong I am to think you would ever, ever, ever stick up for me!” The last words came out shrill and hoarse and sharp, hurting her throat.
Her grandfather turned purple. “I would—he wouldn’t dare!” He tottered to his feet.
She exploded. “He doesn’t want to fuck me, he wants to fuck with my head!”
“Angelina, your language!”
“How am I supposed to say it?” she cried. “How long do you want me to turn the other cheek? You’ve been sitting here watching—you saw what he put in the laundry for me to find!” She was speechless with shame. Why did she have to explain? Goomba already knew. He was just making her say it to humiliate her. “You know he does those things. You let it happen. You get to buy me clothes and a car and spoil me and pet me. And Tony gets to grab my ass when you think I’ve been bad.”
She felt the walls crashing down around her, leaving her homeless, setting her free. She hoped she would have time to pack. Mom would sneak her some clothes.
Goomba sputtered, “How could he—under my nose—no, it doesn’t happen! Tony makes a lot of mistakes—he drinks too much—an accident maybe—”
With a squeal of frustration she grabbed up the wad of used condoms and slapped it into Goomba’s hand. “That is not a mistake!” she screamed.
Goomba recoiled, staring. “I don’t believe it.” He shook his head over and over. But he looked worse than he had when Mom told him to get his own coffee.
Daisy realized that tears were running down her cheeks.
“I don’t really care if you believe me.” Her pulse rang in her ears until she could barely hear herself speak. “I wouldn’t ask you to choose between Tony and me. That would be wrong.” She leaned forward and raised her voice against the ringing in her ears. “Wrong, do you hear me? When you love two people at once, you shouldn’t have to choose.”
He opened and shut his mouth.
She wanted to hit him again, but she didn’t have anything else. He’d spoiled the love between them. Then she thought of something.
“That reminds me,” she said. “Mom told me to be sure and ask why you and Bobby Senior hate each other so much.” Might as well ask now. She’d probably never get another chance.
At this, Badger turned and came away from the patio door. Gently, he pushed Goomba to sit on the sofa again. Goomba was rubbing the knees of his trousers, glancing from Daisy to Badger to the patio door and back.
“They were best friends,” Badger blurted.
Daisy looked at him, feeling dumb. “Best?”
“Best friends,” Goomba said in a stronger voice. “We did everything together. High school, the army, apprentices at the Opera House. I was dating this girl. I really liked her. Bobby Morton took her away from me and married her.”
Her mouth made an O.
Goomba glanced up at her. “They didn’t even stay married. She got fed up with him, the stage and wife’s life, who knows. She divorced him after two sons in less than two years.” His chin came down and his voice softened. “Angelina. Baby. I—I don’t want to come between you and your love.” His voice broke. “I don’t want you to have to choose between two people you love.”
“Bull. You don’t want to lose your cook and housekeeper. You sicced Wesley and his spyware on us at Lake Geneva. Oh yes, we found the bug first thing,” she said scornfully to his astounded expression.
“So you—then it wasn’t—” His face brightened. “You never—”
Oh shit, he figured it out. She realized she was giving away too much.
Hope bloomed in the old man’s face, so happy, so painful to see that her heart felt like it was in a vice. He croaked, “So it’s not true? You didn’t have sex with that idiot after all?”
Words ripped out of her in one long scream. “It’s none of your business!”
Badger put his hand on Goomba’s arm.
Daisy stumbled to the patio door, fumbled it open, and ran out of the house.
Badger sat beside him with his hand on his shoulder. Marty was grateful. He thought the pain might rip him apart. “What did I do?” he said, bewildered. “What did I do?”
Badger’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “You din’t let go, Marty.”
“She’s my angelina. I can’t—” he swallowed broken glass and turned his face away from his old friend. “I can’t stop loving her.”
“Let go of Bobby Morton,” Badger said. Marty made a noise in his throat. “That’s what’s fucking this up for you both.”
Marty stared at the patio door. His heart was a dead lump of coal inside him. “You think?” But the moment Badger had said it, he began feeling better. A long, slow, cool breeze started up inside him, blowing the pain away.
Whispers began in the back of his mind. The boy is good to her. Let go. It would hurt less. Fewer people to hate. Less time being angry.
Suddenly he felt like he’d put a huge part of his life on hold, ever since Irene gave his ring back.
The wife had known. No wonder she’d left. His sons knew, too, maybe that’s why none of them still lived in Chicago. It was grandsons and nephews for Marty Dit, not the strong backing of his own seed, like Bobby Morton had.
Sure. Strong like that mental giant Bobby Junior, or Rob the Snob, who was surely number two sarcastic sonofabitch in the whole Local. He’d spent a lifetime envying Bobby, and for what?
“He won’t thank me,” he said abruptly.
“Bobby Morton? Who gives a fuck what he thinks. This is for Daisy.”
Marty looked quickly at Badger and caught him blinking. Got you, didn’t she, Badger?
The thing was, when Daisy loved you, you had to love her back.
Maybe it would work on the Morton pup, too.
“He might not accept. If I hold out my hand.”
“Who gives a fuck?” Badger repeated. “You do your part and Daisy’ll know it. She knows what it means. She did it for you, anyway.”
Her tearf
ul face, the gun clammy in his hand, Goomba, no. He’s my fiancé.
“I thought she did it for him. For the Morton boy.”
Badger stirred beside him. “At first, maybe,” he said grumpily.
“She didn’t love him then.” Marty knew that much. “You still had a shot.” He sent Badger another look. “It almost worked, didn’t it?”
Badger returned his look with something akin to dislike. He said heavily, “Yeah.” His face seemed to age while Marty watched. The scar next to his eye darkened. Maybe it was just a cloud crossing the sun outside.
Marty felt a whole lot better. Badger was right. It was the right thing to do. He breathed deeply, feeling the tightness ease in his chest. “You think she’d even notice? If I bury the hatchet?”
“Shit, yes.”
But Marty was already imagining how he would tell her. Ceremoniously, after supper? Or wait ’til he’d actually talked to Bobby? A picture of his Targa, sitting in the carport with the upholstery ripped out, came unbidden to his mind.
He could be mad about that. Easily.
No, it wasn’t about Bobby. It was about Daisy.
She hated him running for the Board against Bobby. He had a campaign mailing to the membership almost ready, sitting in his Caldwell Avenue office right this minute. He’d been putting the finishing touches on the letter today.
Okay. Now he would write a new letter. Show her the letter before it went out. He couldn’t bear one more minute of Daisy hating him.
He put a hand on his buddy’s knee and squeezed. “Thanks.” With a shrewd look he added, “I’ll put in a word for you, too.”
Badger stood suddenly. “I think Daisy and I understand each other.” He looked at his watch. “Got a hotel job at three. Ballroom followspot.” He walked out, leaving Marty feeling semi-human for the first time in weeks.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Next morning, Marty rewrote his campaign letter to his union brothers.
To all voting members of the Stagehands Local: As many of you may know, for a long time I have contested my old friend Bobby Morton’s seat on the Executive Board. A lot of water has passed over the dam since those days. And anyway Bobby is doing a great job. This year I come to the conclusion that the past is over and done with. We have a more hopeful future. I refer to my granddaughter Daisy Ditorelli’s betrothal to Bobby Morton’s grandson Bobbyjay. Our families will be as one. Therefore it is with a light heart that I withdraw from this year’s election for the Board.
Fraternally yours,
Marty Ditorelli
He wasn’t so sure he wanted to praise Bobby Morton’s performance on the Board but, if he were to be utterly honest, Marty would admit that he would have done the same as Bobby, with the same power. And the letter didn’t look complete without that. When he thought of Bobby reading this letter he felt hot inside, in a good way. It was time to end the feud. Maybe Bobby would shake his hand after this. That would feel good, too.
That evening Daisy served supper in dead silence. Marty was tempted a hundred times to show her the letter but, every time, he reflected that the impact would be greater if she heard about it on the street, from other stagehands. She would see how she had misjudged him.
And she would see Tony tossed out on his ear. Tonight.
But Tony didn’t come home after his gig at Navy Pier ended. Drinking his paycheck, his grandfather guessed. Instead of waiting up for him, Marty drafted Wesley to come to the copy shop with him and then to the office on Caldwell Avenue, where they threw out the old letter and replaced it with the folded new letter, carefully inserting the fresh copies in the prepared envelopes. In the morning Marty would buy stamps, and then he would seal and send the letters.
He shivered, thinking of the permanence of this step.
If Bobby didn’t receive his gesture positively—his chest tightened—well, fuck Bobby Morton, as Badger said. This was for his granddaughter.
He brought Wesley home at ten o’clock, past the kid’s bedtime for a school night, and surprised Daisy in his kitchen.
“Angelina,” he said hesitantly.
She held still, facing the freezer door, not looking at him.
Marty reminded himself that she didn’t have to believe in him tonight. By Friday she would. Maybe tomorrow, once he threw Tony out of the house.
“Good night, preziosa,” he said to her back.
“Good night, Goomba.” She came away from the fridge and kissed him softly on the cheek. Her eyes were reddened and, for once, free of makeup.
They stood facing one another for a moment.
She was as tall as her Goomba now. Twenty-one years old and engaged, with a fast track entry into stagehand work. “I love you, Daisy,” he said, feeling suddenly desperate.
Her eyes brightened with tears. “I love you, too,” she said. Quickly she went out the kitchen door and climbed the back stairs to her own flat.
Daisy was packing when her mother stuck her head in the bedroom door.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m moving out, Mom.” Daisy tossed a pile of underwear into a box. Her chest was hot and sore from refusing to cry.
“Honey?” Mom came into the room and shut the door. “Honey, what.”
Daisy threw herself into her mother’s arms. “I hate him, Mom. I love him and I hate him and I can’t stay here any more.”
She felt her mother nod slowly. “Baby.”
Daisy sucked in a shuddering sigh. “I think I’ll go to Bobbyjay’s apartment.”
“Does he know you’re coming?” Mom sounded so careful. Be careful, Mom. I’m about to fly apart.
“Not yet.” Daisy sniffled.
“I’m sure he’d love to have you. How about you call him first, hm?”
The past eight hours had left Daisy full of gloom. “Give him time to get all his other girlfriends out of the place, you mean?” She pulled out of Mom’s arms and went back to throwing bras and socks on top of the underwear.
“Well, time to shovel the pizza boxes out the back door.” Mom sat on the bed.
Daisy didn’t answer. She folded the box lid over her underthings and put a second box on the bed. Jeans, tops, tee-shirts. That little dress she was wearing the night Bobbyjay climbed into the fish with her. She choked on a sob. I should put that on before I go over to his place. He won’t turn me away then. She paused with her hand on her makeup carrier.
Lose the makeup, Bobbyjay had said, and you’ll look like a stagehand.
She left the makeup carrier on the dresser. A second glance into the box next to Mom reminded her of Bobbyjay saying, Wear something you can work in. That won’t do. With a sigh she dumped the box out on the bed and sifted it for slutwear. When she was done, the box was empty and everything was on the floor.
She owned one pair of overalls and two tee-shirts to work in. All dirty.
“Dammit!” She sat down with a bump next to Mom.
Mom put her arm around her and didn’t say a thing.
“He’ll go along with anything I want,” Daisy said defensively, as if Mom had been scolding.
Mom squeezed her. “He loves you.”
“I don’t want him taking me in just because I asked. He does whatever I ask,” she said, lifting a hand helplessly. In frustration, thinking of the bruise on Bobbyjay’s cheekbone, she wailed, “He’s such a pushover!”
Mom squeezed her again, and Daisy thought how great it would be if she could bury her face on Mom’s shoulder and everything would go away. Goomba’s disappointment in her. Tony, who would be furious with her for squealing on him to Goomba, and whose payback would suck. The look on Badger’s face when she made him see that she couldn’t be seduced by his lazy affection anymore. The hassles at work from brother stagehands, subtle but never-ending, and from the Mortons, unsubtle and dangerous. She stared ahead, feeling Mom’s arm around her like a distant wind.
I’m not ready to give up.
She sniffled. Oh, but this part was hard. “I’ll ask hi
m at work tomorrow.”
So in the morning she made breakfast like always. She couldn’t stonewall Goomba again, that was too painful last night, so she tried for pleasant and in-control, and that worked.
He ate his breakfast looking at his watch the whole time.
As she poured the last cup of coffee, Wesley muttered, “You gonna show—?”
Goomba shook his head, lifting one finger to his lips. “We finish it first. Lovely breakfast once again, angelina.”
“You’re welcome,” she said coolly. She did her best not to feel paranoid. What are they cooking up? It wouldn’t matter, ultimately, not really. If Bobbyjay couldn’t take her in, she would think of something.
I’ll have to.
She walked out the door just as Tony came home, unshaven and raucous, but she didn’t even turn around when he slapped her on the ass.
As she got into Bobbyjay’s Jeep, the sound of yelling came from inside the house.
Halfway through the morning, Corky Finn called her from the union office. “They’s a big ‘in’ at the Pavillion. Gitcher ass out there A-sap.”
“I’m at the Opera today,” she said, feeling stupid, holding her cell phone with one hand and coiling cable with the other.
A sout’wes’-side sigh of exasperation hissed in her ear. “I know that. I’m takin’ you off the call.”
“But what do I do about—”
“Tell Tanny I called. Don’t dawdle. This is a twenty-four hour call, so I hope you gots clean clothes inna trunk,” he added and hung up, apparently feeling he had sufficiently prepped the new kid for an “in-run-out.”
She hung up, perplexed.
But John Tannyhill only shook his head. “He’s taking a third of my running crew,” was all he said. “Come back whenever, if the job ends in the middle of our workday.” With a look she saw a lot these days, he added, “If you feel up to it.”
Daisy set her teeth. “I’ll be here.”
Fools Paradise Page 19
