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Show Flashing 40 l e f t high and dry some day by some bounder." They all laugh, but he can't fool me. I'm an excuse for him to stay in his office and think he's productive. I have my own ideas about helping him. On the Friday before Father's Day, I go to Ronzone's and ask the clerk to show me his best shirt. "Button cuffs or cuff links?" he asks me. "Oh, cuff links, of course." "White on white?" "Like the dealers wear." I smile in anticipation. When I get home with the box wrapped in a blue bow, I can't wait to show my father. I am j i t t e r y as he slips the bow from the g i f t. " I ' d rather wait until Sunday." " I t was the best in the store. White on white," I t e l l him as he rustles tissue. "Do you love i t , Daddy?" " I t ' s very nice, Alice, but you shouldn't have. I have enough shirts. This is too fancy for me, anyway." I hide in my room, listening to radio station KENO. The longer I l i s ten, the more I hate my father's balding head with freckles, his passive face with the automatic smile that protects him from the big, bad guys on the make, like he'll never be. He thinks he's above all that, better in his two-bit office with his daughter typing his work, pretending to groom her as a secretary. We are family while Angelo goes laughing down the h a l l , flashing his head into the room to say, "Hi, Harold, how are things?" "You've met my daughter, Angelo?" |
