by Mary Leo
She looked nothing like a helpful nurse, whereas Uncle Ray even wore a stethoscope around his neck.
“What two families? Would someone please give me a few more details?” I begged.
“The Spias and the Nardis,” Aunt Val said.
“It is the only way to stop the bloodshed between the families in Italy,” Uncle Benny added.
“And it will save the ancient olive trees in their groves that keep getting pinched for the black market,” Audrey said.
“I know you want to help save the trees,” Maryann chimed in. “You couldn’t possibly want to let them get pulled up. More than half of them will die and the ones that live will have a hard time bearing fruit if the new owners don’t replant them in the right soil, and feed them the right nutrients. It’s a travesty that only you and Giuseppe can stop.”
I felt kind of woozy so I sat back down hard on the provided chair. “Okay let me get this straight. I’m to marry a man I hardly know because my father, who, up until a couple weeks or so ago was dead to me. Now he wants me to act as a peace offering between two warring families to save some olive trees in Italy. Is that right?”
A loud painful groan echoed through the kitchen from the dining room. We all knew it came from Giuseppe.
Without thinking, I ran to his side. I could hear the chatter behind me about how much I must care about him if I took off like that.
Okay, so maybe they were right . . . at least a little. Of course I cared about Giuseppe, but not like my family wanted me to. It was more of a compassionate curiosity than anything else.
“What’s going on? Why is he still in so much pain?” I asked Aunt Babe as I approached the dining table. “Can’t you give him something?”
“I offered to give him medical marijuana, but he won’t take it,” Aunt Babe said, as she showed me a fat, perfectly rolled doobie.
“You have marijuana?” I asked, thinking that not only do I have to constantly shun alcohol, which was a constant at all my family events, but also they were adding a legal drug.
My life kept getting more and more complicated.
She nodded, smirking. “You know I suffer from lower back pain.”
She grabbed her lower back and faked a wince.
“Since when?”
“Since last year when . . .”
“. . . they made marijuana legal in California.”
Aunt Babe did her best Marilyn pose, pouty lips, big eyes while she tilted her head. “I am good, but I’m not an angel.”
I gazed over at Giuseppe, who was obviously in a whole bunch of hurt. “You should smoke the doobie. It will help.”
“I no do those drugs. I no put dirt into my clean lungs,” he said. I could tell he was in a lot of hurt, and still he wouldn’t do the drug. I liked that . . . liked that a lot.
“I have Xanax,” Lisa said.
I gazed in her direction. “Seriously?”
“They’re for emergencies,” she said.
“What kind of emergencies require Xanax?”
“I have trouble speaking in front of groups. And I’m not a good flier.”
I sucked in a breath. “But you speak at countless conferences, and you fly all over the world for book signings.”
“A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.”
“I’ll take those,” Giuseppe said. “How many should I take?”
“They’re only point-twenty-five milligrams. Maybe two?”
“I will take three,” he said without hesitation. She poured out the tiny white pills into his hand and in the next moment they were gone. Not fifteen minutes later, Giuseppe passed out on the hard table, while Uncle Ray prepared for bullet removal.
I needed a glass of wine in the worst way, or at the very least, a few hits on that doobie. Short of either of those, at least I could help cook something. I thought of my secret cookbook for recovering addicts. What I hadn’t told Lisa and Jade was that each recipe would come with a level of complexity to help divert the addicts’ attention away from wanting a drink, and I so very much wanted an induced high, and at the moment, I wasn’t particular how I got it.
Broccoli Pasta à la Zia Yolanda – Level One
1 pound of cooked pasta (reserve ½ cup of the pasta water)
1 large head of broccoli carefully cut into florets
4 Tbs. Mission Extra Virgin Olive Oil (EVOO) or any delicate olive oil
2-3 cloves of crushed and chopped garlic (depending on size and your tolerance level)
½ tsp. hot pepper flakes or to taste (always optional, but hot peppers act as a stimulant)
½ cup freshly grated imported Parmesan cheese (can add more to taste . . . grating, like chopping is good therapy)
10 pitted and halved mild-tasting, green olives (optional)
salt and pepper to taste
Cook pasta as package indicates. Only use high quality imported pasta.
You can use any shape of pasta that you prefer, but this dish is best with a penne, bowtie or a shell type of pasta. (If you want to turn this into a level two or level three category, make your own fresh pasta.) Steam the broccoli for three to five minutes, just until slightly tender. Pull out an extra-large skillet, heat the EVOO for thirty seconds over a medium flame, then add the garlic and red pepper flakes. Cook, stirring until the pungent aroma warms your senses. Do not allow it to brown. Add the steamed broccoli and toss well in the garlic oil, cooking until desired tenderness, about 2-4 minutes. Add the cooked pasta and the olives to the pan and toss well to really mix in all the flavors. Add the cheese and the reserved pasta water a little at a time until it creates a sauce that clings to the noodles. Season to taste with salt and pepper if desired. Presentation matters, so serve your beautiful creation in one of your best large bowls with plenty of freshly grated Parmesan on the side. You might add a fresh loaf of crusty olive bread, and a bottle of Mission EVOO with a few drops of our dark champagne vinegar for dipping. This dish will serve four, so share the fun! And don’t forget a lovely imported Italian sparkling water, served in a flute to go along with it.
Bellissimo!
SEVEN
Here A Fiancé, There A Fiancée
I didn’t exactly know how it happened, but after all was said and done, Giuseppe Nardi ended up in my bed in my studio apartment while I slept on my sofa. The shooter in the white vintage Mustang still remained at large.
I remembered that Uncle Benny had told me that Andrew, my cousin Jimmy’s friend, would stand watch below my apartment all night long. I couldn’t see him as I peeked out of my second-story window over my mother’s garage, but both my uncles, along with my cousin Jimmy, had assured me there would be no more shooting on our property. How they were going to accomplish this, I didn’t know, and didn’t much care. I just wanted to feel safe again . . . which, I did not. I’d spent the majority of the long night tossing and turning, dreaming about someone breaking in and shooting up the place. I had crazy dreams with old-style gangsters from the Al Capone era, wearing fedora hats and gold colored overcoats, spraying us, and the walls of my tiny apartment, with bullets from oversized machine guns.
Each time I had the dream, I’d get shot up while Giuseppe’s bullets bounced off of him as if he was made of something impenetrable. Just before I died, wrapped in Giuseppe’s arms, I’d wake up covered in sweat.
I had to change my pj’s three times, and every time I did, Giuseppe never budged.
I didn’t remember agreeing to this new arrangement, nor did I know who brought the wounded mobster up to my apartment, but there he lay in the center of my plush bed, fast asleep from his second dose of Xanax. I remembered Lisa giving him that second dose while he lay on my mother’s table, but after that, things got a little fuzzy. I kind of remembered lying down on my mother’s sofa, but everything after that consisted of men in gold overcoats and spraying bullets.
I gazed over at him as he slept on his back in the middle of my bed. Morning sunshine danced on his handsome face and his muscular naked shoulders. One
of his shoulders was covered in white gauze where Uncle Ray had successfully removed the bullet.
I still couldn’t get used to his white hair, and beard, but the look was growing on me.
While I’d been at my mom’s last night, everyone in the family imbibed in rich red wines, and bubbly Prosecco. I, of course, only drank sparkling water. That hadn’t stopped me from yearning for and lusting over the wines, imagining their earthy, fruity tones on my tongue. I had envisioned myself with the warm body rush when the first flush of a wine buzz hit me, wrapped in its deep glow.
The stress of Giuseppe getting shot had put me in a wanton state. I knew I shouldn’t have allowed my mind to drift into that lust-filled place, but I couldn’t help myself. The scent of wine had consumed me.
And still tugged at me this morning.
Thankfully, Lisa had stopped by to check on me and remind me that now was not the time to partake in anything other than black tea, hot and strong.
“So, tell me you’re not going to marry him,” Lisa said as we sat at my table sipping Russian Blend tea that she’d brought me from Fortnum & Mason the last time she’d been in London for a book signing. We tried not to wake the sleeping mobster, but my apartment was teeny tiny, a classic studio with no separation between my massive queen sized bed, my kitchen or my comfy sitting area.
I’d been awake for most of the night, recovering from my crazy dreams and watching Giuseppe sleep while lamenting our trip to Italy and all the money we’d lost on plane tickets never used. Not to mention, my disappointment in not being able to finally meet up with my father. And even though it would be dangerous for him to actually show up here in the States, I still couldn’t get the man I spotted on Main Street out of my head. And the more I thought about it and everything my family had said, the more I thought my dad was here, on our land, and probably sleeping under my mom’s roof.
She just wasn’t going to tell me the truth.
“Who?” I said, toying with her patience as I broke open an orange olive oil muffin and took a big bite. The sweet, slightly bitter flavor awakened my taste buds to the wonders of a really good muffin. If everything else in my life went down the toilet, at least culinary delights still enchanted me with positive possibilities.
Lisa rolled her eyes. “The man in your bed who is not your boyfriend.”
“Excuse me while I indulge in a sweet delight,” I told her, purposely ignoring her question, taking a big bite then sitting back to enjoy the flavors.
I tried to keep a dozen or so of these tasty muffins in my freezer for times like these when I didn’t have anything else to eat. The women in my family loved them, especially my mom, Alessandra, Gianna and Aunt Val. Whenever I made a batch I usually made extra just for them. They were my staple when I needed something sweet, and damn if I didn’t crave mass quantities of sugar this morning. This was my third muffin so far.
“What will your boyfriend say about Giuseppe?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Does Leo know that?”
“He knows our relationship is on a wait-and-see basis.”
She chuckled, then took a sip of her tea, blowing on it before her lips touched the white mug. “Wait until he sees you marrying another man.”
“I’m not going to marry Giuseppe. There’s only so much a girl can do for her family, and marrying a gangster isn’t one of them.”
“He’s not a gangster anymore, remember? He’s recovering like the rest of your family.”
“It doesn’t work like that. You’re not a gangster one day and the next you’re not just because you say so. It takes time to recover, to stop wanting to whack people or take your percentage of their business or do whatever else gangsters do.”
“But he’s such an adorable gangster, especially now with his white hair and that scruffy day-old beard. I love a man with thick stubble in the morning, all that testosterone pushing up through his skin. I want to go over and cuddle up next to him just to feel the roughness of his beard on my face. But he’d wake up and reality would creep in, destroying my lust fantasy.”
I glanced over at him, secretly lusting over that gorgeous body of his. Could I help it if the man turned me on?
“And there it is,” Lisa said, putting her mug down a little too hard on the table.
“There what is?”
“That look you get whenever you’re attracted to a guy. You can’t hide that look from me, girlfriend. I’ve known you since we snuck kisses with Johnny Shapiro and Ben Chen behind our kindergarten classroom in the city. You’re so attracted to this guy it hurts to watch you.”
She always could see through my bullshit.
Lisa had grown up with her parents and brother in San Francisco’s Chinatown while I grew up with my dad and mom in San Francisco’s Little Italy or North Beach. Her dad ran a successful Chinese restaurant while my dad ran a successful organized crime family. Her mom was an eccentric, feisty Chinese woman, and my mom was an eccentric, feisty Italian woman. We each knew the kind of crazy the other had to deal with at home.
It bonded us.
“I can’t be attracted to him,” I whispered. “I’m back with Leo.”
“You just told me that was tentative.”
“I lied. We’re back on.”
I tried to mean what I was saying, but I had my doubts. After all, I’d been down this road with him many times before.
“You may think you’re back with Leo, and Leo may think you two are back together, but you’re lusting over the Italian Stallion in your bed. Does Leo know who you’re harboring?”
“I’m not harboring anybody. He’s only here temporarily. Until he stops bleeding. My mom won’t tolerate blood on any of her new mattresses.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t been bleeding since Ray removed the bullet.”
I drank more of my tea . . . hot, sweet and creamy, just the way I liked it. Lisa’s mom would serve us green tea when we were kids, but I never took to it. And neither did Lisa. We would sneak black tea whenever we could, thinking we were getting away with something really bad. It was our form of rebellion, and for a lot of years it worked . . . until I discovered alcohol. Then everything changed, at least for me. Lisa had always been more disciplined. Alcohol was never her thing. Putting herself in precarious situations and figuring out how to escape unscathed turned her on. She was a walking ad for her books, and owned every aspect of her life.
I, on the other hand, took my life one day at a time.
Case in point: The gangster in my bed.
“He had to have been bleeding, or why else is he here?”
“Because you agreed to it,” Lisa said with her usual get-to-the-point flair. She was never one to avoid the elephant in the room, and Giuseppe was of the mega-ton variety with great big ivory tusks that could kill with a simple swipe.
I shook my head. “I did not.”
“Well, you didn’t argue when Jimmy helped him up your steps.”
I finally remembered Jimmy struggling to get Giuseppe up my staircase. I must have done a memory dump sometime during my sleepless night.
This had to be my mom’s doing. I would never have agreed to this on my own . . . or would I?
I didn’t want to answer that.
“You know I can’t argue with my mom. She’s like your mom, an immoveable object. They don’t budge once they make up their minds.”
“I’m just saying, this arrangement might be dangerous in more ways than just the obvious.”
“You mean because someone shot him and he’s still alive so that shooter may come back and I can get caught in the crossfire? I’ve already had that nightmare, three times last night, and it didn’t end well.”
She smirked. “There’s that, but the real threat is you’re falling for him. I can see it. And sooner or later you’re going to agree to this preposterous marriage bargain. Besides, you just said our moms don’t budge once they make up their minds. I heard your mom last night. She’s solid on this decision. I
don’t think you’re going to change her mind.”
“Maybe so, but she won’t win this argument.”
“She’s already won. He’s in your apartment.”
Lisa had a point. I needed to get him out of my apartment, and soon. I already felt my resolve cracking.
“He’s not bleeding anymore so he can move back in with her,” I said, determined to do just that.
“When?”
“As soon as he wakes up.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I sipped my tea, trying to calm my insatiable need for more sugar. Three muffins wasn’t doing it. I’d taken out several more muffins to thaw and put them under glass on my cake stand on the kitchen counter. Normally by now, I’d have eaten something major, but I was too tense to eat real food. Besides, I didn’t have any staples in the house. I had cleaned everything out preparing for the trip. “I promise. I’ll move him out as soon as he wakes up. Then I’ll go to the grocery store and restock my fridge. Obviously, I’m not traveling for awhile, so I need to settle back into my daily routine.”
Still, I knew I didn’t sound convincing.
She sat back in her wooden chair. “Admit it. This crazy marriage your family has cooked up appeals to you. You’ve been working non-stop for months now. Giuseppe’s an enticing distraction. He solves all your problems with Leo. And as an added bonus, your dad will be happy. You have a thing about pleasing your dad.”
I wasn’t quite ready to admit that out loud. I resented the fact that she had. Why did this woman know me better than I knew myself? It frustrated me to no end.
“I haven’t seen my dad since I was twelve. I thought he was dead.”
“That hasn’t changed how you feel about him. Hell, we were going all the way to Italy in hopes of finding him.”
She had me there. I truly hoped we would locate him once we were in Italy. Even dreamed about how special our reunion would be. How he and I would sit for hours and catch up on all the birthdays he’d missed, all the events and how much we missed each other. Then maybe he’d apologize for being such a shit when he walked out on us, and completely abandoned us . . . the dirty bastard. Part of me hated him for that, and would probably never be able to completely forgive him.
