November 23, 1968

J.T. studied Ann Boxer, thinking far back to the first time he had met her, that weekend when he came down to New York from Millville to meet Marty, his college Little Brother. His eyes turned to Marty, who was beaming at six-year-old Muffy.

“Come on, Uncle J.T., you play too,” said Muffy, coming over to J.T., taking his hand in her tiny fingers.

“Okay, Muffy,” J.T. agreed, although he didn’t much like playing with children.

Muffy walked J.T. to where Marty was standing. “Patty cake, patty cake,” Muffy began, touching Marty’s hand, then J.T.’s.

J.T. looked at Marty. There was something aloof in Marty’s attitude lately. He had obtained DeValen’s written agreement to finance their law office at a handsome annual retainer, he had announced his resignation from the Special Prosecutor’s office, everything that Marty had wanted had been done, and yet there was some sort of unfriendliness.

“… baker’s man, bake me a cake …”

Marty looked away from J.T. The Tauber affair was what had started his stomach churning. Having to look the fool, in front of the court, in front of his peers, in front of everyone, was crushing. And after that, it really didn’t matter what plans J.T. had, what agreements he made with DeValen.

“… as fast as you can … pat it …”

J.T. was watching the little girl tapping her little fist on top of her father’s, his, her own, over and over. Marty said he’d stay on during the mayoral campaign as long as it lasted, he’d run the law office, but he wouldn’t stay on after that. God, that was a swift kick in the ass.

“… and bake it …”

Marty didn’t know exactly where he was going to work, what he was going to do, now that he had advised J.T. that he wouldn’t be practicing law with him. But J.T.’s voracious appetite for publicity and public acclaim was carrying him to reckless heights, and Marty had had enough of it.

“… mark it with an ‘O’ …”

I’ll have to get somebody to replace Marty in the office, J.T. thought. That was going to be tough. Plenty of people would take a high salary, but dedication was a hard commodity to come by. Phil Levine had contacted him recently, wanting to work on the campaign. J.T. looked at Marty as he thought about Phil Levine. He might not be charming, but Levine was crafty and dedicated.

“… and put it in the oven …”

Marty truly felt badly that he wouldn’t be there to sit on J.T. when his wild imagination got going. What’s going to happen to Big Brother? Marty wondered sincerely.

Flashes of years spun through both men’s minds as their eyes were directed, if not focused on, the little girl: years at Browning, congressional hearings, the law firm, Bedardo, the special prosecutor’s office. They each thought different thoughts about different times, but each reminisced as he saw their curtain coming down.

“… for Daddy Otto, and Uncle Otto, and Muffy Otto three,” Muffy squealed happily.