Florida Straits(40)

"Got time for a quick one?" Bert asked.

"Sure," said Joey, and they crossed Duval Street, heading for the Eclipse Saloon.

The tavern was cool and dim, dim enough so that Don Giovanni's oversized pupils opened wide and gleamed with a morbid mauve glow. The bar was just starting to fill up with that select group of Key Westers who actually worked and therefore had a set time to begin their drinking. Cliff the bartender had daydreamed his way through the sluggish hours and now he greeted them with the distracted gentleness of a man just waking up from a nap. " 'Lo, Bert. The usual? Joey?"

Cliff started in on Bert's whiskey sour while listening for Joey's order. As far as Cliff could remember, he never asked for the same thing twice. And the fact was that while Joey enjoyed the ritual of the cocktail, the shapes of the glasses, the sound of shaken ice, the sheen of frothy liquor cascading out of stainless steel, and yes, the feel of alcohol trickling into his blood-stream, he'd never yet found a drink he liked more than other drinks. Which is to say, he hadn't found the drink that fit his image, because he hadn't found his image. "Gimme a gin and tonic."

"Salud," said Bert.

"Salud," said Joey.

The old man took a sip of foam, then wiped his loose mouth on his cocktail napkin. "Your brother came to see me this morning."

"Really? What for?"

Bert rested his elbows on the thick padding at the edge of the bar and shrugged. "I'm not really sure. It was a strange kinda visit. Like, formal. Not the kinda thing I expect from young guys anymore. He said he was coming to pay his respects and to bring regards from your father. And that's really all he said."

"Hm," said Joey. He sucked in an ice cube and let it melt on his tongue. "Was Vicki with him?"

This made Bert lean back on his barstool. "Why the fuck would Vicki be with him? Vicki the transvestite?"

"No," said Joey. "Vicki the bimbo. This broad he has with him."

Bert looked relieved. "No, he was alone. Very alone, if ya know what I mean. Like, the feeling I had, he's down here all by himself, there's more goin' on than he can handle, and he can't talk to anybody. He needs some answers but he can't ask the questions. Ya know what I mean?"

"Yeah, Bert, I know whatcha mean. He tell ya about last night?"

"No. What about last night?"

So Joey told him about the lobster dinner and the walk on the beach. Bert threw his head back in a horsey but silent laugh and slapped the edge of the bar.

"You hit 'im? You hit 'im, Joey?"

Joey couldn't help smiling. "Yup. It was a sucker punch, but I caught him a good one."

"Jesus." Bert absently reached down and tickled Don Giovanni behind the ears. "Guyones," he said to the chihuahua. "The kid ain't bright, but he's got guyones. " And now he leaned close to Joey and dropped his voice. "But hey, you know the rules about hitting a made guy, brother or otherwise. I mean, that shit can get dangerous."

"I know. I know. But it's not like I had it planned. It just happened. A guy's gotta do what he's gotta do, am I right?"

Bert sipped his sour and his expression turned thoughtful. 'Yeah, Joey, you're right. Only problem, though, is that one guy does what he's gotta do, and it gets inna face of another guy doin' what he's gotta do. Ya hear what I'm sayin'? Like, especially with families. So O.K., Gino makes some stupid crack about your mother. Ya gotta slug 'im. Ya gotta. But look at it from his side. What about his mother? Ya can't just forget about her. She's left at home with the pots and pans and the babies and the stringsa garlic hanging from the ceiling. She goes to church while your father goes to hotels. She worries when he don't come home. If she bothers to think about it, she's gotta know there's another woman and the other woman is younger and prettier and has a better shape than her. I mean, it's no picnic for the wife."

Joey had put his hands flat on the bar and was looking down at them as though in shame. He was starting to feel like he hadn't knocked the wind out of Gino but out of the little old Italian mama who was Gino's mother.

"Hey," Bert resumed, "I ain't sayin' this to make you feel bad. It's just that, ya know, it's complicated. Ya can't ask someone not to be a little crazy where his mother is concerned. But Joey, your mother, you should only be proud of her. She was a remarkable person, an artist. Yeah. That's why she went to work at the funeral parlor. You know that?"

Joey didn't know it. In fact, he knew very little about his mother's working life. If your job was beautifying corpses, you didn't come home and describe it in detail to your kid.

"It's true," said Bert. "She tol' me. Before she worked inna funeral home, she useta work inna beauty parlor. It drove her nuts, she said, to work so hard on these ladies, get 'em looking just right, then they'd walk out the door and immediately screw it up. She'd get their nails perfect, they'd put on lipstick that didn't match. She'd get their hair just so, they'd pull a slip on and knock it down. Or the wind would blow.