Just a Taste

by Deirdre Martin

  Mrs. Fabiano sat down, beaming at him. “Lorraine tells me you two have picked up right where you left off in high school.”

  “Uh…” Anthony was speechless as he turned to Insane Lorraine for some kind of hint about what her mother was talking about, but she just smiled at him beatifically.

  “She was telling me how closely you two are working at Dante’s. It’s wonderful when couples work together.”

  “Uh…”

  Beneath the table, Lorraine’s hand snaked its way to Anthony’s knee. Anthony firmly pushed it away with a glare. Lorraine flashed him a wounded look before petulantly peeling off two slices of olive loaf for herself.

  “We were very sorry when we heard about your wife, Anthony.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fabiano. I was sorry to hear about Mr. F’s passing, myself. You’re suing the construction company, I take it?”

  Mrs. Fabiano stared at him blankly. “What?”

  Shit, Anthony thought. I hope I haven’t opened a can of worms I don’t want to get into. Can of worms—now there was an expression for Vivi to mangle. “I thought some scaffolding collapsed on him,” Anthony continued carefully.

  “No.” Mrs. Fabiano sighed. “It was an elk’s head.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We were having dinner at the Elks Club—Roberto was a lifelong Elk, you know—and he was sitting beneath the mounted elk head on the wall when it fell. It killed him instantly.”

  “That’s awful.”

  Mrs. Fabiano shuddered. “It was. Especially with the antlers and all.”

  Death by elk head…what a way to go. Anthony couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard about this; usually the gossip network in Bensonhurst was pretty strong. The Elks Club must have deliberately kept the actual circumstances of his death under wraps for fear of losing members.

  “Some olive loaf, Anthony?” Mrs. Fabiano asked again.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  He endured an hour of avoiding olive loaf and stilted conversation before making his excuses to leave—but not before cornering Insane Lorraine while her mother cleaned up in the kitchen.

  “Thank you so, so much for coming, Anthony.” The excessive nature of Lorraine’s gratitude made him sad, even while irritating him. “It meant a lot to us.”

  “No problem. Look, we need to talk.”

  Lorraine perked up. “Yes?”

  God help me, Anthony thought. “Did you tell your mother we were a couple?”

  “Sort of,” Lorraine mumbled as she hung her head, her pageboy fringe hanging in her eyes.

  “It’s not good to lie, Lorraine. You need to listen to me.” He waited for her to lift her head, but when it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen, he forged ahead. “I’m very flattered that you like me. But you and I have an employer-employee relationship, period. You’ve been doing a really good job at Dante’s, and I’d like to keep you on. And that isn’t going to happen unless you let go of this fantasy that you and I are involved, or are ever going to get involved. Okay?”

  Lorraine lifted her head; her expression was bitter. “It’s because of that French woman, isn’t it? You think she’s prettier than me.”

  “Lorraine.” Anthony was beginning to feel powerless in the face of Lorraine’s obvious aversion to reality. “I’m not discussing Vivi Robitaille with you. My personal life is none of your business. I told you, I’m your boss, you’re my employee. Either accept that, or start looking for another job, all right?”

  Lorraine said nothing. All righty, then. He’d said his piece, and it was time to go. “Thanks again for brunch, Mrs. F,” Anthony called into the kitchen, where Insane Lorraine’s mother was wrapping up the leftovers. Not surprisingly, there were a lot.

  She hurried out into the living room/mausoleum to kiss his cheek. “It was so nice to see you, Anthony. You’ve made Lorraine so happy, you don’t know. Next time, let’s make it dinner.”

  Anthony managed a sickly smile. “Sure.”

  Shaken, he left the house without a further word.

  “God, they’re killin’ me here.”

  Anthony studied the guest list for the Blades Christmas party, which seemed to grow longer every year. Luckily for the team, he was able to switch the dates as Michael had requested. But the number of people they expected him to cram into the banquet room was unreal. He’d need all the help he could get, both in the kitchen and with the front of the house. Aldo would bust his balls about having to work the party, but in the end would capitulate. Everyone else would be on board as long as Anthony paid them well, which he always did. He was a firm believer in paying people what they were worth; it showed respect and helped create loyalty. Between working the Blades party and their regular Christmas bonuses, his staff would have a very Merry Christmas indeed.

  “Hello?”

  He looked up to see Vivi peeking her head through the restaurant’s front door. He hadn’t seen her since the night of the cook-off. It surprised him how much lighter just seeing her face made him feel. It was as if she brought the sunshine into the room with her.

  “Come on in.”

  Vivi approached the table, eyes bright. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

  “I’m always here. What’s up?”

  “The DiDinatos have finished installing my kitchen equipment. It’s so beautiful! I want you to see it.”

  “I would love to.” Anthony slid out of his chair and followed her across the street.

  “Well?”

  Vivi looked at Anthony expectantly. The equipment for the kitchen had indeed been installed. What surprised him was how small a space the kitchen was—long and narrow, like a galley. He couldn’t imagine fitting more than a couple of people in there at a time.

  “It’s great,” Anthony told her. “It’s just—small.”

  Vivi frowned. “This is a small bistro, Anthony, remember? I don’t need a kitchen your size.”

  “Yeah, but—” He clamped his mouth shut, determined not to dampen her enthusiasm.

  “But what?” Vivi demanded. She was scowling at him like a Halloween witch.

  “Nothing.” Anthony held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry I said anything. Clearly, I’m talking out my ass.”

  Vivi’s scowl turned into a look of mild offense. “My kitchen is somehow related to your ass?”

  “No, no, no.” Jesus, he really had to watch the colloquialisms. “It’s an expression. ‘Talking out my ass’ means ‘I don’t know what I’m talking about.’”

  Vivi considered this. “You are talking out your derriere,” she declared.

  “Exactly. It’s a nice kitchen, Vivi. I mean it.”

  She sighed wistfully. “I just wish I didn’t have to wait months to be able to use it. I’m dying to cook.”

  Anthony hesitated a moment, then jumped in. “Mikey’s old hockey team is having their Christmas party at Dante’s in a few weeks. Would you like to help me out?”

  “Yes!” Vivi enthused, but then her face fell. “When is it? I’m going back to France for Christmas.”

  “Oh.” Anthony felt a wave of disappointment. “The party is the twentieth.”

  “Perfect! Natalie and I are flying back the twenty-first.”

  “How long will you be gone for?”

  “Just through the New Year. We’ll be back on January second.”

  “I see.” That disappointed him, too, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was a big New Year’s Eve guy. Usually he was working; New Year’s Eve at Dante’s was one of his busiest nights of the year.

  Vivi rubbed her hands together excitedly. “When do you want me here to help you cook? And what should I make? A buche de noel? That’s a traditional French holiday dessert; it’s in the shape of Yule log.”

  “I know what it is. Look, here’s the thing, we’ll be following my menu, and it’s pretty basic: fried calamari, large trays of lasagna and eggplant parm, that type of thing. Nothing fancy. This is not a fancy crowd.”

  “But per
haps they’d like to try something new.”

  “Vivi.” Anthony was keeping a leash on his mounting annoyance. “The foods I serve, they’re kind of a tradition, you know? You know what it’s like cooking for a large party or a wedding or something like that, right? They get the choice of a few dishes, period, for both simplicity’s sake and expediency’s sake.”

  Anthony could tell by the frustrated look on Vivi’s face that this wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “What if I made something on my own time and brought it in?” she wheedled. “Would that be all right?”

  There was only one reason Anthony could think of for why it wouldn’t be: he didn’t want her outdoing him, the way she did at the cook-off. He knew it was petty, but he couldn’t help it. This was his gig.

  “Let me think about it.”

  Vivi looked pouty. “Can I bring Natalie?”

  “Sure, if she doesn’t mind hanging around with a bunch of hockey players—though there will be some corporate types there as well.”

  “Natalie does very well with corporate types. She’s been feeling very low. I think being at a party will cheer her up.”

  “You’re a good sister, Vivi.”

  “Half sister. I try to be.” She touched Anthony’s forearm, her hand lingering there. “I promise I won’t be too much of a pain in the jaw—”

  “Neck—”

  “—in the kitchen. I’m so happy you asked me to help you. It’s the best Christmas present anyone could give me.”

  Anthony winked at her. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

  “These hockey players—they’re so loud.”

  Vivi nodded in agreement as she and Natalie stood in the doorway to Dante’s banquet room, looking out over the crowd. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Of course, the never-ending flow of liquor helped. Many of the players seemed well on their way to getting toasted, as the Americans would say. Vivi liked that some of the players had their families with them, too. There was a real close-knit feeling to this group. Her eyes sought out Michael and Theresa, sitting with their three children, and two other couples Vivi assumed were related to the team. Vivi nudged Natalie.

  “Why don’t you go talk to Theresa? Tell her you want to discuss PR for Vivi’s as soon as we get back from France.”

  “Stop pushing me, Vivi,” Natalie said, irritated. “It will be taken care of.” Natalie’s eyes did a second circuit around the room. “Many of the men are handsome, though apparently, many of them lack their own teeth.”

  “Have you met anyone interesting?” Vivi asked coyly. She was hoping Natalie might meet someone nice. Frankly, she was nervous about Natalie returning to France for the Christmas holidays. For weeks, Natalie had been gripped by an unhealthy nostalgia. “At this time last year, Thierry and I were planning a weekend together.” “At this time last year, Thierry bought me perfume for an early Christmas gift.” Vivi feared that upon returning to Paris, Natalie’s depression might deepen, and she wouldn’t want to come back to America after the New Year.

  Natalie considered the question with a snort. “No.”

  “Have you even tried speaking with any of them?”

  “Cherie, listen to me.” Natalie looked touched as she pushed some wisps of hair out of Vivi’s eyes. “I know what you’re up to, and I appreciate it. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine. You seem very melancholy to me.”

  “It will pass. Trust me.”

  “That Quinn O’Brien likes you,” Vivi pointed out. “He likes to tease you.”

  “He’s a barbarian. Besides, I would never go out with a journalist. Journalists ruined my life, as you might recall.”

  Vivi dropped the subject. She’d learned that when Natalie didn’t want to discuss something, it wasn’t discussed—unless Vivi pushed hard. Vivi decided to let it go for today. It was five days until Christmas, after all. She wanted goodwill to prevail.

  “What are you and your maman doing for Christmas?” Vivi asked. She couldn’t wait to see her mother, to go to Midnight Mass with her and her grandmother, then come home and drink hot chocolate together while they all opened their presents. She missed her mother so much it was a physical ache sometimes.

  “I don’t know,” Natalie confessed. “When Papa was alive, we would always go to his brother’s house. But now that he’s gone, my mother doesn’t want to. She could never stand his family, anyway.”

  Vivi nodded, a small lump forming in her throat. Never in her life had she spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her father. He always came a few days after, when his other responsibilities were out of the way. Sometimes, she’d go to bed on Christmas Eve and pray that by some miracle he might be there in the morning when she awoke. But he never was.

  “Will you celebrate at all?” Vivi asked.

  “I’m sure we’ll figure out something to do, even if it’s to stare at each other over our brandies.”

  The image depressed Vivi immensely, even if Natalie was just being flippant.

  “Would you like to come home with me for the holidays?” Vivi asked shyly. “I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind having you.”

  Natalie looked teary. “Thank you for the offer, but no, I’d prefer to stay in Paris. Perhaps you’ll make a day trip up to see me, though? We could shop, maybe go to the Pompidou Center. I haven’t been in a very long time.”

  “Yes, that might be nice.”

  Natalie checked her watch impatiently, one of her tics. “When will you be done here, do you think?”

  “Oh, don’t wait for me.” Vivi had arranged to sleep at Natalie’s tonight so they could taxi together to the airport early the next morning. “There’s a few hours of the party left yet, and then I have to help clean up. I’ll come later, when I’m done.”

  Natalie looked suspicious. Vivi wondered, did Natalie think she wanted to stick around because of Anthony? If so, that wasn’t the case. Not really. Well, perhaps a little. She did have a small gift for him.

  “All right.” Seemingly mollified, Natalie lightly kissed both Vivi’s cheeks. “Don’t work too hard. I’ll see you later this evening.”

  Vivi couldn’t believe that all the food from the party was gone. When she had seen the trays and trays of lasagna Anthony was preparing, the pounds of squid being breaded and tipped into the deep fryer to make calamari, she was appalled; there was no way it would all be consumed! It was a waste. But she was wrong. Not only was every last bit gobbled up, but they’d actually run out, forcing Anthony to improvise. No one seemed to complain when steaming bowls of pasta and Dante’s trademark sauce replaced the lasagna and the delicious, wafer-thin eggplant parmesan that was melt-in-the-mouth good. Yet the pasta and sauce disappeared, too, right along with the olive oil cake Anthony had made for dessert. Luckily, she’d ignored his request for her not to make anything and had baked trays of macaroons, which helped save the day when every last crumb of Anthony’s cake had been devoured. He was annoyed at first, but then begrudgingly grateful to have something to serve. Vivi was convinced that if he kept bringing food out all afternoon, everyone would simply keep eating. She was actually glad when there was no more food to be served.

  Afternoon affairs like this one always warped her sense of time. It felt like it should be very late at night when it was only eight p.m. She rejoined Anthony in the kitchen, where he was finishing up the last of the cleaning. The staff had long gone, but Anthony, being a perfectionist, couldn’t lock up until he knew everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. Vivi understood completely. She had no doubt she’d be the same way once Vivi’s opened.

  Anthony looked surprised to see her. “What are you still doing here? I thought you’d left with everyone else.”

  Vivi feigned offense. “You think I’d leave without saying good-bye? Especially when I’ll be gone for two weeks?”

  Two weeks…Why did that suddenly feel like an eternity to be away? She’d been excited for months about going home to see her mother and g
randmother. But now, standing with Anthony, it seemed bittersweet. In all her holiday planning, she hadn’t counted on the possibility of missing him.

  “Got any special plans for New Year’s Eve?” he asked, picking up a damp rag to wipe down one of the stainless steel tables. The table was perfectly clean as far as Vivi could see. He was either more neurotic than she thought, or he was trying to keep occupied while they talked.

  Vivi shook her head. “Not really. At midnight, maman and I usually go to the Saint Benezet Bridge and toss coins into the water, making a wish.”

  “In Paris?”

  “In Avignon. Where we live.”

  “Yeah?” Anthony seemed to be concentrating very hard on the already-clean table. “What are you gonna wish for?”

  Vivi flushed. “I don’t know.” She paused. “What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?”

  “Working. New Year’s Eve is a big night at Dante’s. We have three seatings, starting at five.”

  Vivi nodded. She could picture it—the patrons all dressed up, talking and laughing as the clock counted down, and the tinkling of bumping champagne glasses ringing through the room as people wished one another a joyous New Year. She almost wished she could be here, even if it were just to help. “I enjoyed today,” she admitted.

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “You’re upset about the macaroons.”

  “I was at first, but then they wound up saving my bacon. So thank you,” he concluded begrudgingly.

  “It was nothing,” Vivi said, waving a dismissive hand. She watched as he moved on to the next table, rubbing it down in broad circles. It was beginning to annoy her. “Why are you cleaning that again?” she asked, following him. “It looks fine.”

  “To you, maybe.”

  Vivi reached out, stilling his hand. “Stop,” she commanded softly.

  Anthony slid his hand out from under hers, pushing the rag away. “Better?”

  “Better.”

  “I have a Christmas present for you,” he said, looking almost shy. “I was going to stop by your place tonight to give it to you, but your sister told me you were spending the night in the city with her.”