the story. “No, c’mon, not really,” said Carlo’s wife Linda. “You certainly do not hate women! Did you then?” “No,” I said. “We spent no time hating anyone. It was just a Little Rascals thing.” “Actually,” said Carlo, “it was more of an explorers club.” I reddened but forged ahead. “Yeah, we honored DeSoto.” “Oh, shit,” Linda exclaimed. “You’re Carlo’s DeSoto guy?” She laughed and flicked the top curl of whipped cream from her banana split in the direction of Carlo’s nose. “Honored DeSoto?” she said. “More like dishonored from what I’ve heard!” “But I—” said Jay, reaching across the table to steal the maraschino Carlo had yet to eat from his sundae, “—I have to thank you, man. Not only did you teach him well . . . you left this for me.” Jay popped the cherry in his mouth.
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