Here's the next installment, with Randy in the mix. I liked the idea of having Patricio and Randy bouncing off each other to introduce a philosophical element in a storyline, and I plan on getting at least one more scene out of it. Also, for the record, I initially gave this story "M" just for Pat, Sr's language, and he's a little fouller in this chapter.
"So I tell Junior, why are you still talkin bout fuckin Nikki. Tell me bout this Tiffany broad," Patricio said. He opened a beer, and offered another to Randall Feinberg. He rearranged the remotes, very carefully. "You know, they performed in a dance recital together. That's how I first met her. I went with Jeanie, and it wasn't bad. I mean, it's still fuckin dance, but she can move. I tell you, the whole time, I kept thinking, if only she played fuckin basketball. Now she's talkin' bout going to a semipro competition, and she's got Pat practicing like a demon. You know, I had to talk him into skipping one afternoon to go to the Eagles game. I don't know what he thinks is up, but I know the signs. It's true love, Randy, it's meant to be, same as the Eagles are meant to kick fuckin Giants ass."
He gave the remote another nudge. Suddenly, Randall spoke: "`Knowing this first, that no prophecy of the Scripture is of any private interpretation. For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man, but the holy men spoke as they were moved.'"
Patricio looked askance at his friend. "What are you fuckin doin spouting St. Peter at me outta nowhere? You hardly even believe in your half of the Bible."
Randy pointed to the remotes. "You know what I'm saying, Pat. If something's really in the signs, it's because it's meant to be by the will of God. Do you think you're better than God?"
"Jesus fuckin Christ, you're makin it sound like voodoo or something," Patricio said. "This isn't about tellin God what to do. It's showin we can read the signs. Then things will go right, for the Birds and everybody else. And you're a fine one to talk, when you're doing the Kabbalah crap…"
"Kabbalah is about finding insights that are already there in the Torah," Randy said. "It's not meant for foretelling the future: It could, but if you go to it looking for nothing but an answer to a question you already have in mind, you've blinded yourself to most of its potential. Then there's this. Seriously, Pat, you are fuckin insane. Just think about the big picture why don't you? There's millions of Eagles fans, hard as that is to believe, and I'm sure at least half of them are just like you, looking for signs and doing whatever rituals they think will bring the Birds good luck. So what's the fuckin big deal about you? Why are the fuckin crazy things you do more important than their fuckin crazy?"
"You don't understand, you fuckin Texas kike!" Patricio shouted. He took deep breaths to calm himself. "I'm sorry for that, Randy. But you really don't understand. Look, with what you were saying about Kabbalah, I get that, I can respect that. There are signs everywhere, and that's because everything's knitted together, like one big beautiful tapestry. But it's not just about seeing the signs. It's about lining yourself up with the signs. It's showing you have faith that there is a big plan. Because if you don't follow the signs, if you don't have the faith, you're pitting yourself against God, and you pay. That's when the signs go wrong, and the tapestry comes unraveled. It all fuckin falls apart."
"Holy sheeiit," said Randy, "you're still worked up about that Cardinals game!"
"Tell me I'm fuckin wrong!" Patricio said. "The fuckin Birds blow a fuckin fourteen-point lead against the fuckin Cardinals, how the fuck does that happen?! And what else happens? Not a week later, Junior gets married to his college sweetheart, and within five years, he goes to the loony bin because of her! Tell me that's a fuckin coincidence, Randall! Tell me I'm fuckin wrong!"
He took a deep breath, and then he smiled. The signs were good. Junior and Jake were at the game. He was in his lucky sweater, in his lucky chair, with all the lucky charms in their right places. And to top it all off, Junior had one lucky girl waiting for him when he got back. Yes, all was good. He picked up the remote for the new sound system and pushed the button to turn up the volume. He frowned. "Dolores!" he shouted. "Did you forget to change the fuckin batteries?!"
Veronica was giving Emily a bath in the sink when the phone rang. "Oh, that's Daddy," she said after a glance at the caller ID. "Want to say hi to Daddy, Em? Maybe you can talk to Uncle Pat, too."
"Pap!" Em said, and gave a crow of laughter. Von giggled herself as she raised the phone to her ear.
"Hi, hon, Em and I were just talking about you…" The smile immediately left her face. "You're where?... What did Pat do?!"
