Just a Taste

by Deirdre Martin

  “Yes.”

  Anthony smirked as he asked, “Did she have a nice time at the party today?”

  Vivi sighed. “I was hoping she might meet someone nice, but I guess it wasn’t to be.”

  “Believe me, someone as highfalutin as your sister is wayyy out of the league of most of those bozos.”

  Vivi’s eyes practically crossed with confusion. “Bozo? Highfalutin? Is that even English?”

  Anthony grinned. “Let me get your present.” He strode out of the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a wrapped, rectangular square the size of a box of chocolates. Vivi hoped it wasn’t; she’d eat herself sick on the plane home.

  “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, handing it to her.

  “I have one for you, too, you know,” she said, refraining from the impulse to shake the box.

  “Yeah?”

  “Of course I do. What do you think I am, a total looter?”

  “Loser,” Anthony corrected affectionately. He gestured at the package in her hand. “I really think you should open that.”

  Vivi excitedly tore away the wrapping, revealing two books: The Dictionary of American Slang, and A Guide to American Colloquialisms and Expressions. She laughed. “This is wonderful!”

  “Yeah?” Anthony repeated uncertainly. “I thought you might be insulted, the way some women are when you buy them something practical for a present, instead of something…”

  “Oh, no, I need this, very much so,” Vivi said seriously. “Thank you.” She rose up on tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Vivi put her books down on the table. “Now, for your present.”

  She hustled to the restaurant’s coat closet to fetch Anthony’s present from the large shopping bag she’d brought with her. Usually she hated flying, but with the two books he’d gotten her, she had no doubt the flight back home would pass quickly. What a wonderful, considerate gift, even though she knew that on a certain level, he meant it to be somewhat tooth in cheek, as the Americans said.

  Breathless, she scurried back to the kitchen, carefully laying the gift down on the table beside him. “Here you go. Be careful opening it. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

  Anthony peered at her quizzically, then opened the package. There was no mistaking the shock in his eyes as he took in the sight of the shiny new meat cleaver.

  “Vivi.” He picked it up, turning it over in his hands as he admired it. “You shouldn’t have done this.”

  Vivi ignored him. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Vivi,” Anthony repeated more sternly. “You have to return this. I know how much this brand of cleaver costs.”

  Vivi’s mouth hardened into an angry line. “When someone gives you a present, you’re supposed to be gracious and accept it.”

  “Not when that person buys you something outrageously expensive you know they can’t afford.”

  “I’m the judge of what I can and can’t afford. Not you.”

  “I already have a cleaver, Vivi.”

  Vivi hesitated. “Yes, but it doesn’t hold its edge any more. I was shocked when I cut up the chicken to make you my poulet basquaise. The cleaver was far too dull. I decided then and there that you needed a new one.”

  “That’s very considerate of you,” Anthony replied frostily, “but it’s still too expensive.”

  Vivi could see she’d insulted him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I was being helpful.”

  “I know you did.” His face softened. “I’ll accept it on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You promise never to use it on me.”

  Vivi laughed. “You’ll have to behave, then.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Or, perhaps, the right thing. A whisper of tension stole into the room, rendering them both still. Finally, Anthony put the cleaver down. When he turned back to look at her, there was longing in his eyes.

  “Please kiss me,” Vivi murmured, surprising herself.

  She didn’t care about their last conversation, when he said he needed to sort things out. All she could think about was the feeling of his mouth on hers, the way her skin warmed like honey in the sun when he touched her. There was no hesitation as Anthony put his mouth on hers. God, he always kissed perfectly, Vivi marveled. There was no awkwardness, no stabbing his tongue into her mouth like an impatient adolescent, the way so many men did. Vivi let herself fall into the moment and then, a moment later, into his arms.

  Breaking their embrace, Vivi felt confused. She’d told herself not a month before that she would in no way actively pursue him; yet she’d asked him to kiss her. Still, given the sexual tension between them, it was possible he would have anyway. She’d stopped denying to herself that she liked him. Perhaps the next step was admitting that she actively wanted him?

  It was usually men who made declarations first, wasn’t it? Men who declared their hearts, who took it upon themselves to transform basic attraction into something deeper and lovelier. Vivi felt herself slipping into uncharted territory. She’d never been the first to tell a man her feelings, and now, standing here in front of the man who frustrated her but whom she was growing to adore, she wondered if she wasn’t making a mistake. But she couldn’t go back home for Christmas without a more solid grasp on how he felt.

  So Vivi gave voice to the cliché: “We have to talk.”

  Anthony didn’t seem put out or puzzled by her statement. In fact, Vivi thought he looked rather relieved. “Talk away,” he said.

  “I like you.”

  “I like you, too.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she huffed. “I like you.”

  “And I like you,” Anthony repeated back with a pleased smile. “But I just need a little time to sort things out in my mind.”

  “What things?” Vivi asked. She touched his shoulder. “Please, I need to know.”

  “Well, for one thing, you’re another chef. Getting together could be dangerous.”

  “I agree.”

  “Then there’s, you know, my emotional state.”

  “Are you still in love with your dead wife?”

  She regretted saying it immediately. The words sounded so harsh in the silent kitchen.

  “I’ll always love her,” Anthony said carefully. “But I’m pretty sure I’m ready to move on.”

  “Then why have you been hesitating so?”

  Anthony rubbed his forehead, pained. Vivi could see this was a struggle for him. She got the sense he wanted to state things just right so that there was no misunderstanding.

  “I don’t want to start a relationship with you until I’m absolutely sure I can be there for you. I don’t want us to get something started, and then halfway into it, realize I’m not ready for it, and hurt you. You’re a special woman, Vivi, and you deserve to be treated that way, always. Can you give me just a few more weeks to straighten my head out?” He shook his head in disgust. “Christ. I sound like such a wimp.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Do you even know what a wimp is?”

  “Yes, it’s someone who’s weak. Indecisive.”

  “That about sums it up.” He reached out to touch her cheek. “I promise: I’ll have this all worked out by the time you come back in the new year. Okay?”

  Vivi bowed her head for moment. “Okay. But if you start seeing someone else while I’m away,” she said as she looked back up at him, “I will use that cleaver on you, and it won’t be pleasant.”

  “I’m not gonna start seeing someone else. Don’t worry.” Anthony looked sad. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

  “Me, too,” Vivi said, tears springing to her eyes. “Merde,” she said, looking away from him in embarrassment. “It takes nothing to make me cry.”

  “Read the books I gave you, and you’ll learn how to say that in American.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “The American expression is, ‘I cry at the drop of a hat.’”<
br />
  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. But it’s catchy, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Vivi agreed. Her eyes crept to the clock on the wall. “I have to go. A cab is picking me up at my apartment in about forty minutes to bring me to Natalie’s.”

  “Cancel it. I’ll drive you into the city.”

  “Don’t be silly.” The truth was, she wanted to take the cab. It would give her a chance to ruminate over all that had been said.

  Anthony shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’m gonna head out soon myself.” He opened his arms. “Farewell hug?”

  “Farewell hug,” Vivi agreed, stepping into his arms. They held each other tightly. Vivi felt she could stay there forever. But she knew the longer she stood there like this, the more she’d be tempted to push for more: more kisses, more passion, more everything. She pulled away gently.

  “Joyeux Noel, Anthony.”

  Anthony pressed his lips to her forehead. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Vivi. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

  Chapter 17

  “Anthony?”

  Anthony felt his stomach heave at the sound of Insane Lorraine’s voice. Vivi had left Dante’s, but he had deliberately remained behind to think about what had just passed between them. The kitchen was where he thought best. It was his home, the place where he felt most alive. He’d been deep in thought when the drone of Lorraine’s voice broke the silence. Mother of God, is there no escaping this woman?

  “Lorraine, how did you get in here?”

  She was standing by the kitchen doors wrapped in a long camel hair coat, her eyes nervously shifting to and fro. Never mind Vivi and the cleaver, Anthony thought tensely, Lorraine is about to pull a Squeaky Fromme.

  “I’ve been here since the party.”

  The hair stood up on the back of his neck. “You were at the party?”

  Lorraine nodded. “Hiding in the bathroom. I told Michael I left something here after work on Friday, and he let me in.”

  “Great.” Michael was going to pay for this. “Well, what can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to give you your Christmas present.”

  “I don’t accept presents from my employees,” said Anthony, discreetly slipping Vivi’s cleaver into the nearest utensil drawer, “though I appreciate the gesture.”

  Lorraine took two steps towards him. “Please, Anthony? You’ve done so much for me.”

  Anthony sighed. He was trapped, and he knew it. The only way he was going to get her out of here was by capitulating. “Fine. Give me your present.”

  He held out his hand to receive it. Instead, Insane Lorraine opened her coat, revealing her naked body beneath. “I love you, Anthony,” she declared breathlessly. “Fill me with your man seed. Let me bear your children.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Anthony roared, his hands flying up to cover his eyes. “Close your coat, Lorraine! Now!”

  “Think of how beautiful our children would be,” Lorraine continued unfazed. “I want—”

  “Close your coat or I’m calling the cops!” He turned his back to her.

  “But—”

  “No buts! Do it!”

  He had been half-prepared for her to attempt to stab him. But he’d never expected her to flash her boobs and everything else God gave her. And to do it in the kitchen at Dante’s! Talk about a desecration of sacred space. She was finished. Fired. Done. Mikey was a dead man.

  “You decent?” Anthony called over his shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  “You swear on your mother’s eyes?”

  “Yes,” Lorraine said in a defeated voice.

  Anthony cautiously turned around, peering at her through the screen of his fingers. She’d closed her coat, and wrapped it tight. She wouldn’t look at him.

  Compassion, he said to himself. Christmas, peace on earth, kindness to your fellow men. Be nice.

  “Lorraine, I think you need to talk with someone. Your memory doesn’t seem to be very good. Remember what I told you at your house? I’m your boss.”

  “But I love you, Anthony. I always have. Remember in high school…those anonymous notes stuck in the hands of your mother’s statue of Saint Francis? Those were from me.”

  No shit. “Lorraine.” He tried to keep his voice kind; it wasn’t easy. “I’m sure you can find someone just right for you, if you just try. Please, this situation is making me very uncomfortable. Go home right now, before I get angry.”

  “I need a ride,” she said pitifully.

  Anthony fought the temptation to pull his new cleaver out of the drawer and whack himself in the skull with it. “No problem. Just—keep your coat closed, okay?”

  “No way in hell am I firing her right before Christmas.” There was no mistaking Michael’s vehemence as he glared at Anthony from his perch three steps above on a Macy’s escalator. Two days until Christmas, and of course his brother had yet to shop for anything for Theresa or the kids. Anthony supposed it could be worse; he could have waited until Christmas Eve. But this was pretty bad. The store was packed wall-to-wall with shoppers whose nerves were frayed as they searched for the perfect gift. Goodwill toward men my ass, thought Anthony. It was every man for himself in the department store jungle.

  Anthony was resolute as he followed his brother off the escalator. “You hired Lorraine. You fire her. It’s that simple.”

  “I’ve never fired anyone in my life,” Michael protested, making a beeline for a low-cut blouse that a woman in a fur coat plucked from the rack just as he was reaching for it, her expression victorious. “Minghia, these people are like animals.”

  “Ever hear of the Internet?”

  “I’ll try that tonight if we don’t find anything here.” Michael looked around desperately. “Shit. Maybe I should just get her a gift certificate.”

  “Then she’ll know you left it until the last minute.”

  “She already knows. When I told her I was hanging out with you today, she gave this weird little smile and said, ‘Have fun.’”

  Anthony shrugged. “So she knows. So what?”

  “Easy for you to say, Mr. Anal Retentive.”

  Anthony just chuckled. It was true, he tended to get his holiday shopping done way ahead of the curve, mainly to avoid the chaos they now found themselves in. Angie had been even worse; she used to complete her holiday shopping by Thanksgiving.

  Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Vivi. What was she doing right now? France was five hours ahead, making it seven p.m. in Avignon. Was she cooking for her mother? Seeing old friends? He couldn’t believe how joyless everything felt since she left. Hopefully, watching Mikey’s kids open up their gifts on Christmas morning would help cheer him up. He wouldn’t be able to stand feeling this gloomy for the next two weeks.

  Michael sprinted toward the lingerie section, grabbing the first bra he set eyes on. “What about this?”

  “It’s a nursing bra, Mikey.”

  Michael looked at it. “You’re right.” He put the bra back on the rack.

  “C’mon, man, you can do better than this,” Anthony cajoled. “Where’s that hopeless romantic Theresa always says she fell in love with?”

  “Tickle Me Elmo killed him.”

  “Maybe it’s time to give the stay-at-home dad gig a second thought, then,” Anthony said delicately.

  Michael glared at him. “This isn’t the time.”

  “With you, it’s never the time. I have an idea: you could take over for Insane Lorraine.”

  Michael didn’t smile. “You’re really expecting me to fire her, aren’t you?”

  “You’re goddamn right I am! You made this mess, you’re going to fix it!”

  “Okay, okay, how about this,” Michael said, plunging blindly into a sea of women’s lace and silk. “How about I find her another job?”

  “Fine. But fire her first.”

  “That’s pretty hard-assed, Ant. Especially since she’s working off the books. We fire her, we can’t even say she was laid off so she can colle
ct unemployment. She gets nothing.”

  “Not my problem,” Anthony growled.

  “Let her work until I find her something else.”

  “Yeah? And what if she flashes me again? What if she does something nutty in the middle of the dining room? What then?”

  “I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her she’s got to keep her shit together, or else.”

  Anthony snorted. “Like she’ll listen to you.”

  “She’ll listen to me. I got her this job. I’m like a God to her.”

  “Whereas I’m just a potential stud.”

  “Speaking of studs,” Michael said, holding up a beautiful, sky blue kimono for Anthony’s input, “did you and Vivi have a tearful good-bye? I was surprised to see her at the Blades party.”

  “I was surprised to see you at the Blades party,” Anthony shot back. “You were the only ex-player there.”

  “I own half the restaurant, remember?” Michael snapped. “I wanted to make sure everyone was having a good time.”

  “Sure, fine, whatever. Thumbs-up on the kimono.”

  Michael threw the kimono over his arm with a glare. “You never answered my question about Vivi.”

  “We’re gonna talk again when she gets back.”

  “Screw talking. Don’t you think it’s time to ‘do’?”

  “I think that’s between me and Vivi. Now let’s get the hell out of here before I start verbally abusing the elves.”

  “Uncle Anthony! Look!”

  Anthony yawned and rubbed his bleary eyes as his niece Dominica held up some kind of doll with an emaciated body and giant head. It was six a.m. Christmas morning, still dark outside, and Michael’s kids were already up and opening their presents. It was tradition for Anthony to be there. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Still, he wished the kids had slept in for a little bit. When his phone rang at five thirty and it was his brother telling him the little ones were already champing at the bit to get to their toys, he couldn’t believe it. He’d barely gotten three hours of sleep.

  Part of his exhaustion stemmed from how hard he’d worked the night before. The extended family always had the traditional Italian “Seven Fishes of Christmas Eve” dinner late at night, before Midnight Mass but after Anthony had finished up at the restaurant. When his mother had been alive, she’d been the primary cook. But since her death, the responsibility had fallen to Anthony, a task he accepted gladly. None of his dotty old aunts could cook worth a damn.