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  “No mom, I'm fine,” Ann said.

  Betty did an unsteady about-face and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Tony B and Ann sat on the couch, and she snuggled her head on his shoulder.

  “Mom's a little tight,” Ann said.

  “I'd be tight too, if I woke up next to your father every morning,” Tony B said.

  Ann returned with two drinks and handed Tony B the scotch.

  “I propose a toast,” Betty said.

  She raised her glass. Tony B did the same.

  “To you and my daughter,” Betty said.

  “Salute',” Tony B said, and he watched in amazement as Betty downed her entire martini in one gigantic gulp.

  Ann got up from the couch and went to the Christmas tree. She bent down, extracted a present from the bunch and handed it to Tony B.

  “This is from my parents,” Ann said. “I'll give you yours from me on Christmas day.”

  Tony B was in the process of ripping off the Christmas wrapping paper, when the front door bolted open and Ryan O'Reilly burst through.

  He stared at Tony B with murder in his eyes.

  “Come here you!” he said. “You have some explaining to do.”

  Tony B stood tall. “What's the problem?”

  O'Reilly busted over, grabbed Tony B's arm and squeezed. “Come outside and I'll show you what the problem is.”

  He pushed Tony B towards the front door.

  Tony B wanted to sucker punch this bastard real bad, but he took a deep breath, then headed out the front door, with O'Reilly and the two females following.

  Tony B stood by the driver's door of his Caddy. “Well, what is it?”

  O'Reilly strode around the back of the Caddy to the passenger’s side. He motioned to Tony B with his forefinger. “Wrong side of the car. Come over here.”

  Tony B obeyed, and when he saw what was making O'Reilly angry, he almost swallowed his tongue.

  There it was, the spent rubber Tony B had used at the Warwick Drive-In, frozen stuck on the passenger side of the car, back panel, near the trunk.

  Even though it was near zero degrees in Greenwood Lake, Tony B felt sweat running down the back of his neck. “I swear to God, I don't know how it got there,” Tony B said.

  Ann rushed around the side of the car. When she saw the rubber, she gasped and to stifle a scream, she held her right hand to her mouth. Betty followed her, but when she saw what all the commotion was about, her mouth formed a tight smile.

  O'Reilly's face had now turned beet red and Tony B knew it wasn't from the cold.

  “I'm listening,” O'Reilly said.

  Tony B took a deep breath. “It must be Skinny Benny, or Richie Ratface. They have a house a few blocks from here. They must have followed me and planted it.”

  The veins bulged in O'Reilly's neck. “They planted a used rubber on your car? And who do you think they used the rubber on?”

  Tony B forced himself to finger the frozen rubber. “Nah, this is just frozen milk on the rubber. Here, touch it. See for yourself.”

  O'Reilly scrunched up his mouth, “Touch it? What are you, some kind of a nut? I'm not going to touch it.”

  Betty marched up to the rubber and dipped her forefinger into the frozen goo. She put her finger to her mouth, licked it, smiled and said, “It's milk alright, some kind of sick joke to play on the holy holidays.”

  Tony B stared indignantly at O'Reilly. “See, I told you it was milk.”

  Without saying other word, Tony B played his act to the hilt. He got into the car, started the engine, backed out of the driveway and sped away, burning rubber (but not that rubber) on the icy street. From that point on, Tony B knew he had an ally in Betty O'Reilly. And he couldn't help but get a little hard at the thought of his girlfriend's mother, licking his frozen come off her forefinger so willingly.

  CHAPTER 8

  A Slight Mistake

  Tony B knew he wanted to make Ann his wife, but then things became a little complicated.

  Being the old dog most men were, Tony B still had his goumadas in NY City, who he would bang vociferously on the weekdays when he was not in Greenwood Lake. And after the frozen rubber incident, Tony B decided not to have sex with Ann in the Caddy any more. After all, what were they, lowlifes? Getting a hotel room was the right thing to do.

  There were a few hotels and motels in the neighboring towns of Warwick and Monroe, and Tony B used almost all of them at one time or another for his trysts with Ann, alternating them, not to fall into a pattern, in case he was being clocked by law enforcement, or God-forbid, by someone who wanted Tony B very dead.

  Then after they were finished doing what they were doing, Tony B always made sure he got Ann home at a reasonable time, usually around midnight, so he wouldn't have to run into her drunken, Irish-bastard father, who worked weekend nights delivering the New York Daily News.

  O'Reilly's newspaper delivery job usually kept him out until dawn, but sometimes he got home earlier, because he had paid a flunky to do the deliveries, while he hit almost every bar from Lower Manhattan up to Greenwood Lake. By that time, the Irish punk was ready to get rough with his wife, daughter, or anyone else who might get in his way. Tony B knew it was just a matter of time before he would have to flatten the drunken bastard.

  One Saturday night, Tony B took Ann home just before midnight. Betty O'Reilly was sitting on the living room couch, watching an old movie on a 21-inch black and white RCA television set. She was balancing a large snifter of brandy in her right hand. Tony B knew it wasn't Remy, Hennessy, or any other of the premium brands. It was her usual; Christian Brothers brandy, a rot gut so vile, the Christian Brothers who produced this stuff should burn forever in the fires of hell. Betty received limited funds from her husband to run the house, so spending money on decent booze was just not in her budget.

  “Oh, you kids are home early,” Betty said. She stood up and waved the wretched snifter in front of Tony B's face which immediately curled up his nose hairs. “Care for a bit of brandy?”

  “No thank you,” Tony said. “I need to head back to New York City tonight.”

  “Oh, I thought you stood up here until Sunday night?” she said.

  “I usually do, but something came up and I have to be in the city on Sunday.”

  Betty noticed a large, white stain on Tony B's Levi Strauss blue jeans, suspiciously near the zipper. Tony B liked the comfort of jeans when he was in the country, as New Yorkers called Greenwood Lake. In the 4 and 6 Wards, blue jeans were worn only by plumbers, electricians, handymen and bums.

  Betty pointed at the stain and her eyes twinkled. “You really shouldn't go back to the city with that milk stain on your jeans.”

  Tony B looked down at the stain, then raked his forefinger across it. “Nah, that's not milk. It's probably some toothpaste. I just brushed my teeth just a little while ago.”

  Betty said, “Ann has a pair of your jeans upstairs in her closet that you stained around Christmas. I washed and pressed them for you. Why don't you go upstairs and change into those jeans. I'll wash and press these and have them ready for you next weekend.”

  Without thinking, Tony B did what she suggested.

  The next Friday night, Tony B went to the O'Reilly residence to pick up Ann. When he arrived, Ann was upstairs dressing and Betty was sitting on a love seat in the living room. Judging by the glow on her face, she was sipping about her fourth martini of the night.

  Betty stood and waved the martini in Tony B's nose. “Let me get your jeans from last weekend.”

  She went upstairs and soon returned with Tony B's jeans, draped on a wire hanger. She handed Tony B the hanger. Then she slipped a six-pack box of rubbers, with three missing, in Tony B's other hand. She smiled, “You left these in your jeans last weekend.”

  Betty took a long sip of the martini, then popped open the top two buttons on her blouse. Tony B could see she was not wearing a bra.

  “Well, at least I know you're doing the right thing concerning my da
ughter,” Betty said, fingering the next button down on her blouse. “And don't worry, I didn't tell my husband about the rubbers. In fact after what happened the last time, I don't even mention the word rubbers to my husband even when I'm referring to his rain boots.” She popped open another button on her blouse.

  Just before Tony B had a heart attack, Ann came down the steps into the living room. Tony B grabbed her hand, mumbled a fast goodbye to Betty and nearly dragged Ann out the front door of the house.

  When they were safely inside Tony B's car Ann said, “What was that all about?”

  Tony B told her about the found box of rubbers, but omitted the part about her mother doing a slow striptease in front of him.

  Lecher that he was, Tony B inevitably knew there would be more action concerning her mother, he must also keep a secret from Ann.

  Tony B and Ann had been dating for about six months, when Ann began applying pressure for Tony B to declare his intentions concerning their future. In other words, “When are we going to get freaking married?”

  The only problem was, Tony B found it extremely difficult to ask Ann for her hand in marriage, when he was also banging her sweet old mom.

  Truly, it wasn't all Tony B's fault. He was a victim of unavoidable circumstances. And anything concerning his penis close to a willing female was definitely unavoidable.

  One day, he arrived at the O'Reilly residence to pick up Ann. Betty answered the door, and there she was, half dressed in panties and a negligee.

  “Is Ann in?” Tony B stammered. Knowing full well that was impossible, considering the way her mother was dressed.

  Betty spread her legs slightly and Tony B could see she was wearing no underwear. “No, she just went out shopping for a while. She'll be home in an hour, or two. She asked me to keep you company.”

  And that she did. Right on the couch in the living room, with the shade open slightly, so they could see if either Ann, or that crazy Irish-bastard husband of hers were parking in the driveway.

  Then things got slightly out of hand. And that also was not Tony B's fault.

  Out of nowhere, Betty started making veiled threats, like she would tell her daughter about Tony B's actions, unless Tony B started plowing her fields on a more regular basis. Like at least once a week.

  Tony B decided to do as he was told.

  For their weekly trysts, he settled on the Red Apple Rest, which was a famed rest stop/cafeteria, located in Tuxedo, NY, on Route 17, just over the treacherous, two-lane Route 17A leading to Greenwood Lake. The Red Apple Rest consisted of a large cafeteria and a small motel across the road, on top of a steep hill.

  During the 1940's, the Red Apple Rest was basically a rest station for the Jews and Jewish comedians who were on their way to the Borscht Belt Hotel Resorts in the Catskills. The Red Apple Rest was approximately half way between New York City and Jewish Resorts like Grossingers, Browns, Brickmans and the Concord Hotel. Hotel guests heading to the Borscht Belt stopped at the Red Apple Rest for refreshments and to hit the head; while the working comedians stopped to eat, crap and steal jokes from each other.

  When the New York Thruway was built in the early 1950's, it bypassed the Red Apple Rest. Due to the decreased traffic, the Red Apple Rest's popularity declined. Still, many Jews jumped off the Thruway at Tuxedo to patronize the Red Apple Rest's bathrooms. Or to sample crap Kosher dishes like vegetable-barley soup, lox with vegetable cream cheese and raw onions on huge onion bagel or bialy, corned beef, tongue, brisket and pastrami sandwiches, knishes, tomato herring sandwiches and sardines packed in tomato sauce. UGH!

  Tony B hated all this Jewish junk, but the Red Apple Rest was the perfect place for him to meet Betty, since he was sure he'd never run into any of his Italian, or Irish friends in a place packed with Hebes.

  Once a week, on a weekday afternoon about 2pm, Tony B would rent a room at the Red Apple Rest under an assumed name. Then he'd zip up the FDR Drive, across the George Washington Bridge, Route 4 to Paramus, New Jersey, then Route 17 back into New York state near Ramapo, through Sloatsburg, through Tuxedo and right to the Red Apple Rest. With the rush hour traffic not yet starting, Tony B could make it from Little Italy to the Red Apple Rest in forty-five minutes flat, doing his customary ninety miles an hour, with his trusty radar detector set on the dashboard.

  Each and every time Tony B banged Betty, he told her he loved her daughter and really didn't particularly like what he was doing.

  “That's alright,” Betty would say. “I'm not looking for love, and I figure this might be the best way for me to keep you from banging those fat Italian bimbos in New York City.”

  Just when things started to get unbearable for Tony B, two things happened that changed the equation.

  The first thing was that Ann inexplicably became pregnant. Tony B had always used a rubber and somehow the rubber failed to work. Tony B would find out why later and would do something about it.

  The second thing was that Tony B finally cold-cocked that fat Irish bum Ryan O'Reilly and came off looking like a good guy in doing so.

  Ann getting pregnant caused Tony B to rethink his whole outlook on life. No matter what, he was still a Catholic and a back-room abortion was not an option. This was before Roe versus Wade became law and when it did, Tony B thought it was about two ways to cross a shallow stream.

  Tony B and Ann decided to do the right thing and get married. Which would not please either of her parents too much, but for totally different reasons. For one thing, Tony B banging Betty would become a thing of the past, since Tony B and Ann decided they would make their home in New York City, making Tony B's trips to the Red Apple Rest almost impossible. And certainly impractical.

  Plus, Betty decided having sex with her daughter's boyfriend was one thing. But banging bodies with her son-in-law was absolutely out of the question.

  As for blasting out Ryan O'Reilly, this was one opportunity Tony B could not possibly pass up.

  It happened at a Labor Day weekend picnic, sponsored by the New York Daily News. O'Reilly bought four tickets to the picnic and he drove Betty, Ann and Tony B in his boxy, Buick station wagon, to a remote New Jersey campsite, in a town that might as well have been called Nowhere, New Jersey.

  They started out at the O'Reilly residence, the headed onto Jersey Avenue, through West Milford. Then after about a dozen turns down winding country roads and maybe a hour of driving, they came to a clearing in the woods, which was the site of the picnic.

  Right off the bat, O'Reilly left his family for dead at a picnic table and began mingling with Daily News female staffers. He did this right out in the open, so everyone could see the embarrassment he was causing his wife and his daughter. He puts his arms around different broads, kissing them on the cheek, on the neck and patting their rear ends. Disgusting things like that.

  After an hour or so of steady drinking by O'Reilly, Tony B spotted him grabbing a blond by the hand, then disappearing into the woods with her. Betty noticed this too and when her husband came back to the table about a half hour later all hell broke loose.

  “And where the fuck were you?” Betty said.

  O'Reilly took a slug from a can of Schlitz. “Why don't you mind your own fuckin' business?”

  Betty was irate. “Well, then screw you. You do that again, I'm taking the car and driving the kids back to Greenwood Lake.”

  “Do what you want,” he said. “I'll find my way back.”

  That said, he left his family at the picnic table again and started making the rounds of the female pulchritude at the picnic.

  Betty soon changed from drinking beer, to boilermakers, which were double shots of whiskey, followed by gulps of beer.

  As the afternoon wore down, it was time for the Daily News raffle. First Prize was a Basket of Cheer, which consisted of a half a dozen bottles of booze, surrounded by cheese, crackers, and chocolates, arranged in a large wicker basket. The numbers on the stub of your ticket for admission was your chance at the gold.

  Tony B sat a
t the picnic table with Ann and Betty. O'Reilly was somewhere in the crowd, probably feeling up a broad.

  The bloke at the microphone was tilting in the wind, when he asked a young lass in a tight sweater, to come up and pick the winning ticket out of a metal bucket. He mixed up the stubs. She closed her eyes, reached deep in the bucket and pulled out a single stub. The half-drunk master of ceremonies held up the stub to what was left of the light and read, “The winning ticket number is 04-123-758.”

  When Ann grabbed the stub from his hand, Tony B was barely interested, but sure enough, the numbers on his ticket were 04-123-758.

  Ann stood up from the picnic table, waving the stub. “We have a winner here!”

  Ann hustled up to the MC and handed him the stub. The MC squinted at the stub. “Looks like we do have a winner.” He handed Ann the Basket of Cheer.

  She brought it back to the picnic table and handed it to Tony B, just as her father arrived at the table. “Tony won the Basket of Cheer,” she told her father.

  O'Reilly tugged the basket out of Tony B's hand. “Like hell, this wop won. I bought the freakin' ticket. This prize is mine.”

  Tony B really could give a crap about the Basket of Cheer, but what O'Reilly did next was totally out of line.

  Betty tried to tug the Basket of Cheer away from her husband. He pulled back, and with his free right open hand, he smacked her hard across the cheek. Then he backhanded her other cheek, causing blood to trickle from her nose.

  You could hear the collective gasp from the people at the picnic, but O'Reilly size was so intimidating, no one said, or did a thing.

  Except for Tony B of course, who immediately stood up and delivered an overhand right to O'Reilly's temple, felling him backwards, like a big oak toppling in a rain forest. Tony B hovered over O'Reilly, thinking about landing a few kicks, but O'Reilly was already out cold.

  The picnic was winding down anyway. So two men helped Tony B carry O'Reilly back to his Buick station wagon. They threw him in the back seat and Betty got in next to him. Tony B took the wheel and Ann served as his co-pilot, since Tony B didn't know where the hell they were, or how to get back to Greenwood Lake.