Two Jakes by Lawrence de Maria Page B

Bobo?”
    “Oh,
for God’s sake, Pat, I got the expression from old man Sambuca. And I wasn’t
referring to Dudley. Besides, Bobo’s almost family from what I hear.”
    “Oh,
shit,” Bobo said. “Sorry, Mrs. Mack.”
    “What
a fine bunch of idiots,” she said. “Dig in. I got the antipasto from
Stanzione’s. Think of it as your salad.” She shot a look at Jake. “The
lasagna’s mine. The steaks will be ready in a minute. Girls, get the side
dishes and the kids, not necessarily in that order. Bobo, open the wine.”
    Most
of the meal conversation revolved around the athletic prowess of the various
Mack grandchildren produced by Laura and Alice and their ex-husbands. The
marital record of the girls had for years provided cover for both Mack and
Scarne when the subject of their own love lives was broached. Most of their
kids were at the table. The extended clan, consisting of parents, stepparents,
grandparents, in-laws (and a few outlaws), aunts, uncles, cousins and others
usually made up the largest cheering section at any parish game. It also made
for some very unhappy refs. After dinner, the youngsters headed to the game
room. Scarne and Bobo helped the girls clean up
    When
he got back to the table, father and son were back talking politics.
    “You
weren’t always so cynical about things,” George Mack said. “Both you and Jake
served your country.”
    “I
think he drugged me when we enlisted. Anyway, that was then. The people who run
things now are a ferry ride away. Not that I give a rat’s ass. This is a great
climate to make money. But it bothers my pal, Jake, here. He’s a romantic. Want
to hear him recite the Gettysburg Address?”
    “Put
a sock in it,” Scarne said equably, pulling up a chair. Dudley’s war had also
been short and brutish. He dealt with it by joking.
    “No
more politics,” Patricia Mack said sternly as she sat down, casting a worried
glance at her son. She knew he and Jake didn’t talk about the war. “Or no
coffee and dessert. So, Jake, how’s your love life. When are you going to get
married?”
    “Ma,
give it a rest,” Laura said.
    “You
give it a rest. Jake’s getting long in the tooth to be catting around. I
thought Italians were all about family and Sunday dinner.”
    “How
about them Knicks,” Bobo murmured.
    “Mom,
don’t be insulting,” Dudley said. “You’re stereotyping Jake. He’s part Indian.
All he wants to do is get drunk, roam the prairie and rape white women, or
maybe just women. Or is it buffalo, I never could get that straight.”
    Pat
Mack ignored him
    “Oh,
Jake knows how we feel about him. Bobo, too. There’s nothing wrong with keeping
with your heritage. And I realize that this family hasn’t exactly produced
poster children for the sacrament.”
    Scarne
didn’t like the way this conversation was headed either.
    “If
you ever stop feeding me, Mrs. Mack, I’d probably have to get hitched. When the
right girl comes along, who knows? If I could have caught one of the Bobbsey
twins here between husbands, it might have happened already.”
    “You
wish,” the sisters said simultaneously.
    “The
right girl came along,” Patricia Mack continued. “You let her get away.”
    “I
need a smoke,” Dudley interjected quickly.
    The
four men retreated to the deck.
    “Thanks
for the rescue,” Scarne said, taking one of the cigars his friend passed
around. “Even if you did suggest I screwed buffalos.”
    Soon
a cloud of smoke hovered around the four men as they puffed quietly. The breeze
was against them and it drifted toward the kitchen window.
    “For
God’s sake,” Patricia Mack said as she slammed the window closed.
    The
men laughed.
    “Hell,”
Dudley said. “I’d rather get porked by a buffalo than get cross examined by
Ma.”
    “She
means well,” George Mack said. “But women have to get men married. It’s in
their DNA. But, Jake, if you don’t mind my asking, how’s Kate?”
    “She’s
in LA. Won’t talk to