Free The Rabbit Factory by Marshall Karp Page A

almost
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    forty years. I needed more time." He eyeballed my dessert. "You gonna eat that?"
    I shoved the bowl his way.
    "So," he said, digging into the caramelized gooey brown sugar topping, "now that the ice is broken, are you gonna call Diana?"
    "No," I answered loudly. "I am not calling her."
    "Don't be an idiot," he said. "I have all her phone numbers. Work, home, cell. She's not doing anything Saturday night. I checked."
    "You asked her if she... Jesus F. Christ!" I tried to count to ten. I got to three and exploded. I started furiously tapping my fingers on the tabletop as if it were a computer keyboard. "DearAbby," I said, typing. "I am a forty-two-year-old widower. It's only been six months since my wife died, and in my heart I don't feel ready to start dating. My problem is that my meddlesome father won't mind his own fucking business. He invited a recently widowed woman over to dinner in a pitiful attempt tojumpstart a relationship for me. I love my father, and I really don't want to hurt his feelings, but how do I tell the fat, nosy bastard to back the hell off? Signed, Pissed-Off Police Officer in LA."
    Jim swept aside the dessert bowls in front of him so he could create his own imaginary computer. He began to type. In real life, he can barely hunt and peck using two fingers. But now he raised both hands and let all ten fingers fly across the phantom keyboard with all the passion of Billy Joel in concert. "Dear Pissed-Off Police Officer" he said, spitting out each word. "First of all, I'll bet your father has more brains in his left butt cheek than you do in your entire head. Do you think he wants you to be miserable? No, he's looking after your happiness. Don't
    I I
    be a dumb fuck. Do what he says. He's never been wrong. And he never will be. Love and kisses, Abby."
    I stomped into the kitchen. Angel was making coffee. "I hear much yelling," she said, setting a creamer and a sugar bowl on a gleaming silver tray.
    "I'm sorry, Angel, but your husband is driving me crazy."
    "In my family, yelling is another way to say te amo. I am making Irish coffee. That will make you both feel better."
    "I'm driving," I said. "I'll have the coffee. Hold the Irish."
    I helped her carry the tray into the dining room. Big Jim had finished my flan, his third. "Do you believe this guy, Angel?" he said, angling for spousal support. "He won't ask Diana out on a date."
    She set a cup of aromatic, steaming black coffee in front of him and added a hefty shot of Bushmills. "Maybe he should invite Diana to move in with him and become his housekeeper. It worked for you."
    Jim's face flushed. I burst out laughing. It's always a joy for me when someone nails the big guy, and Angel was getting to be almost as good at it as my mother. Finally, Big Jim let loose. "Fuck you both," he erupted, and then all three hundred pounds of him shook and whooped with laughter. "Just what we fucking need around here. A drop-dead gorgeous Mexican wiseass."
    Angel poured me some coffee, but it didn't smell half as comforting as Big Jim's. So I put my two fingers very close together and said, "un poquito, por favor." She added a tiny splash of the whiskey, and I inhaled deeply. The heady blend of rich, dark French Roast and smoky Irish spirits wafted up my nostrils and into my brain. Without even taking a sip, I felt that
    warm calming buzz. I inhaled a second noseful.
    Angel sat down with us and shared her flan with Big Jim. He had long ago converted her to his Oprah religion, and she recounted some of the highlights of that afternoon's show. It was all about aging gracefully and accepting where you are in your life right now. "So many women, they resent growing old," she said. "They can only think about the wrinkles, the sagging breasts, the menopause. But what they forget is that now we have so much more wisdom, we have life experience, we are in touch with our inner spirit. Getting older can be a joy." She stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry, Mike. This is not good