August 19, 2003

  • Monday afternoon, his day off, Dad has me accompany him to check out one of his old partners in North Beach, some shy East Coast Italianate, Nicky, who fell for the nightclub bit.  We stroll into the dark, airy, fan-cooled bar that stretches like an old dirty grocery aisle towards the open back doors.  No one's around but a few half-drowned regulars on the dark red vinyl and chrome stools.  I'm lookin' good in my  green summer dress, big white hat, and sandals.   Eddie points out his beautiful sexy daughter.  Nicky, wearing a white rolled up tee, gives me the proper once over, grins, and goes back to polishing the marbeline counter and worrying his chewing gum.   They talk, the guy politely annoyed but curious, shrugging and waving his dying cigarette between pinched fingers.  Eddie hits him up for the obligatory comp meal, cuz he knows us.  I'm embarrassed.  It's the typical where-are-we-now drive by, and I must've been through it fifty times. 


    On the way back to the restaurant, my father regales me with Nicky tales, the most awesome of which was the man's dogs; he always had a dog or two or three he kept around until its dying day, to be replaced by another dog like a new pair of shoes or a light bulb.  All were small, yappy snappy short-haired terrier mix dogs, and none were--God forbid--spayed or given shots; "That ain't natural."  If one were "no good," Nick would "take him for a ride," to abandon him on a country road until he "found his way."  When a bitch came into heat, he simply tied a nylon hosiery chastity belt under her tail and let the others "go to town" trying to "get 'er."   One bitch, Cyclone, was kept virginal until she escaped through the open gate at the advanced age of nine.   During her wild run through the neighborhood, several avid gentleman callers in hot pursuit, her mesh panty fell off, and a young Welsh corgi "got 'er."  Nick "pulled 'em apart with the hose but it was too late."  It was he who patiently sat with her all night with a pot of boiled water until she proudly popped out two perfect pups.  But just as I was feeling sentimental about the guy, Dad broke into how he almost buried one mutt alive.  It was an old brown and white male, Scoundrel, whom Nick thought had entered eternal sleep.  However, after he'd placed him in the garbage can to be picked up with the trash, the sanitation engineers lifted the lid to find him still kicking, though in the throes of death.  Morbid, dude.


    When we arrive, we find the staff preparing a large private banquet.  Bruce rings.  Bored to tears and ready to vomit on the canned soup dishwashed steamed food particle odor, I tell him to meet us back in the kitchen office.  A slice of life to fill the time which I'm sure he'll hate.  He doesn't.  In fact, he and Dad get along famously.  Muahahaha!  What a trip, Dad showing him the ropes, reminding me that, in this territory, Eddie is King.  Well, it figures.  They're the same type.  Hope Bruce doesn't decide to work there, if prayer ever made a difference.