"He's really fast," Zak chimed in. "Less than a second to clear the holster and fire."
"Ned won the regional contest in Denver last month," Lucy added. "There's a hundred-thousand-dollar purse and a sponsorship contract as a motivational speaker with Colt if he wins."
Ned was turning beet red from all the praise. "I've just practiced a lot," he said. "Some days there ain't much else to do as a ranch hand."
Lucy detached herself from her father and reattached herself to Ned. "He's being modest," she said, and let go the kind of sigh only a young woman in love can give. "My very own cowboy."
"Ranch hand," Ned corrected her.
Karp used the moment to study his daughter as if he were seeing her in an entirely new light. She'd never had many boyfriends, not until young Dan Heeney from West Virginia, but even that was a sort of puppy love. This was different and, he realized with a pang, part of the change he'd seen in her. It wasn't just that she'd gained weight and filled out; she was a woman. He made a mental note to ask Marlene if…he hated to even consider it and forced any images out of his mind…she'd asked Lucy "the question." Not my daughter, he prayed. Not yet. She's too young.
Then his gaze shifted to Ned, who was looking down into Lucy's eyes with adoration. Something passed between them, and Karp knew then that he was no longer the most important man in Lucy's life. He fought off the jealousy by being overly friendly.
"Well, Ned, I'm glad to finally meet you. From everything I've heard, you're practically the reincarnation of every matinee idol of my childhood." The boy turned beet red again. Oh, man, ten bucks he says Aw shucks, Karp thought.
"Shucks."
Close enough.
"I'm just a ranch hand," Blanchet said, then wondered if that sounded too unmotivated for the father of the woman he hoped to marry someday. He quickly added, "If I win the contest, I'm hoping to use the money to go to college."
Good recovery, son, Karp thought. It's pretty tough to dance around the old man. He smiled, thinking about how he'd had to do a similar waltz with Marlene's father, a good Italian Catholic who'd resisted the idea of her marrying a divorced Jewish lawyer whose only ambition was to remain a poorly paid prosecutor for the New York District Attorney's Office.
Marlene had finally sat Mariano down and told him, like it or not, she intended to marry Karp, bear his children, grow old with him, and die in his arms. After twenty-five years, three grandchildren, and a lot of pushing by Concetta, Mariano had pretty much come around, though he couldn't help but occasionally grouse-loud enough for all to hear-that it just wasn't going to be right when the family met in heaven and his son-in-law wasn't there because he didn't convert, confess his sins, and accept Jesus Christ as his savior and the Catholic faith as the one true church.
"Well, I should warn you that carrying a gun without a license for it in New York City is a felony," Karp said, wondering why he felt like the school tattletale.
"But he does have a permit, Daddy," Lucy said. "I already talked to Clay Fulton and it was here when Ned arrived."
"Clay did what?" Never much of a drinker, Karp decided he needed an eggnog with plenty of rum.
"I suggested it," Marlene said. "Ned's awfully good with that thing and this family-your daughter-tends to need protecting."
"Well, I don't know how much use I'd really be, ma'am," Ned said. "I've never had to shoot anything except targets and bottles. And to be honest, I'd just as soon I never had to, neither."
"I need a drink," Karp said, heading for the kitchen. He saw Jojola standing off to one side grinning at him.
"What are you smiling at?" Karp scowled. "What's next, now that Buffalo Bill's Wild West show has come to town with a cowboy and an Indian. Knife throwing? Scalping lessons?"
"That's easy," Jojola said, grabbing Zak and pulling his long curly hair up in a fist. "You just make a cut across the front and yank it off."
"Cool," Zak squealed.
Karp blinked twice and continued on to the kitchen, where he poured himself that eggnog with rum. Nothing like discussions about shooting people and scalping lessons to bring out the holiday spirit, he thought. I wonder what normal families talk about on Christmas Eve. He gulped the first drink down and just managed to pour another before he was dragged off to the bedroom by Marlene.
"I know that was a little bit of a shock, but now we need to get ready," she said. "People will be here soon."
"Couldn't we close the blinds and turn off the lights, then not answer the door?"
"Come on, Scrooge. Quit with the bah humbug and lighten up." She draped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "And if you're nice, I'll let you open your Christmas present early."
"I'm always nice," he said but was distracted by trying to imagine what his present might be. He chugged the second eggnog, then dutifully climbed into the dark gray turtleneck and khaki slacks his wife laid out for him.
One and a half more eggnogs later, he was feeling in the Christmas/Hanukkah spirit when the first guests, Murrow and Stupenagel, arrived. Murrow was wearing a red silk shirt with a green bow tie with red plastic holly berries attached, and a red-and-green-checkered vest. Stupenagel was dressed to kill in a slinky green satin dress cut almost to her navel to expose as much of her milk-white breasts as legally possible and a slit up the side to expose her mile-long legs.
Stupenagel walked over to Karp and held up a piece of mistletoe she was carrying in her hand. He tried to duck but was too late and she planted a long, firm kiss with just a hint of tongue on him. "I'm Jewish and that's not a Jewish tradition," he complained.
"Yeah, but you're at a Christmas party, Butch, so get used to it," the journalist said and held the plant up again, which sent him scurrying back to the kitchen.
Clay Fulton and his wife, Helen, showed up next, but Marlene had not even closed the door before V.T. Newbury and his blue-blooded girlfriend, Katrina Hairsmith-Dupont, "of the Massachusetts Duponts, of course," stepped out of the elevator across the hall.
Katrina sniffed twice and hurried past Marlene, muttering something about "some people." Marlene then learned that "some people" were Ray Guma and a boozy blonde half his age who emerged from where they'd been making out against a wall of the elevator, unseen at first.
Guma saw Marlene and grinned. "Marlene Ciampi, I'd like to introduce you to my date and possibly the next Mrs. Ray Guma…Crystal ummm…Crystal, what is your last name?"
"Vase," she said, and giggled. "Crystal Vase, you big dummy. Of course, dat's my stage name. Sort of catchy don't ya tink?" She stuck out her hand to Marlene. "My real name's Breanna Buchowski, but I don't like it much. Pleased ta meet ya, I'm sure."
Crystal Vase, aka Breanna Buchowski, wiggled into the apartment, stripping her coat off and handing it to Karp. She was wearing a blouse that exposed cleavage that had Stupenagel turning green with envy, and her skirt was so short that Karp wondered if she could even sit down without revealing the color-or even presence-of her panties.
She looked up at Karp. "Oh, my, you are certainly one tall drink of wadda," she giggled. "Now you'll have to excuse me, I have ta find the liddle girl's room ta tinkle. Ray's been pouring drinks down me all afternoon, and I'm about to pee on your floor."
"Down the hall, first door on the left," Marlene said hastily.
As soon as she was out of sight, Marlene and Karp turned and looked at Guma.
"What? What?" he said. "She's an actress."
"Off-Broadway I take it," Stupenagel said, walking up. "Any show I might have seen?"
Guma stuck his tongue out at Stupenagel, a former lover and longtime mutual antagonist. "Well, she's not really an actress. She's more of a dancer." He looked around at all the raised eyebrows. "Hey, she once tried out for the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall." There were more raised eyebrows. "Okay, okay, I met her last night at the Manhattan Gentleman's Club on Forty-second. You wouldn't believe what she can do with a-"