If anyone would understand his wanting to banish relatives from the kitchen, it would be Vivi. He wondered what she was doing today. Probably putting the finishing touches on the bistro, due to open in a week. It had annoyed him when, a few months back, she’d put a sheet up across the bistro’s window so no one could see what was going on. Michael told him he was paranoid thinking she’d done it specifically to keep him from seeing inside, but he knew the truth. As if he cared. As Theresa had said, if anyone needed to be worried, it was Vivi. Bensonhurst was his turf, solidly Italian. She was going to have to blow everyone away if she expected to garner one tenth of the following he had.
“Anthony?”
He instinctively tensed before turning to see his cousin Gemma tread lightly into the kitchen, as if she were sneaking inside. She was the most well-balanced person Anthony knew, despite being into that witch stuff.
“Hey.” He leaned down to kiss her. “How ya’ feelin’, chooch?”
“I needed to take a break from the mayhem,” she said, tilting her head toward the living room. “Plus Aunt Millie is smoking.”
“Apparently, smoking can cause deafness. I asked her to put it out and she ignored me.”
“That’s Aunt Millie,” said Gemma, rubbing her lower back. There was a ravenous look in her eye as she fixated on the stove. “Everything smells great. I’m starving.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m always starving.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “A new bambino on the way, maybe?”
“Bite your tongue!”
“Well, dinner won’t be too much longer, I promise.”
“I told you we can’t stay for dessert, right? Sean’s family will freak out if we don’t put in an appearance.”
“Not a problem. I’ll send you home with some orange cake that you can have later.”
“Great.” For a split second, Gemma’s face remained lit up, but then she slowly narrowed her eyes, fixing Anthony with a penetrating gaze. Anthony felt hair on the back of his neck rise up. She was doing her witch thing, which always creeped him out.
“You’re depressed.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Yes, you are. I can see it in your aura. It’s murky green. You miss her, don’t you?”
Anthony sighed, seeing no point in denying it. “Yeah.”
Every time he’d run into Vivi over the past three months, things had felt awkward. Conversation was stilted. Perhaps it was the presence of Natalie, who was always glued to Vivi’s side. In Natalie’s eyes, Anthony could feel himself being evaluated, judged, assessed, the same way he had been the first time they met. Lo, how the mighty have fallen is what he always thought whenever he found himself on the receiving end of those cool, appraising stares. It was obvious what the deal was. Natalie was Cinderella in reverse, having given up her luxurious life in the city to move to Brooklyn instead. Poor Vivi. Poor Brooklyn.
Gemma reached her hand up high, gently brushing his cheek. Their height difference had always been a source of amusement between them. “Don’t worry so much. There are big changes coming. Nonna Maria told me.”
“That’s great, Gem. Anyone else from the Great Beyond have an opinion? Maybe you could try dialing up Angie on the heaven hotline and see what she has to say.”
“Fine, don’t believe me,” Gemma said crossly. “But I know what I know.”
“‘Big changes are coming’ could mean anything. It could mean my restaurant is going to burn down. Who the hell knows?”
“Good changes, Anthony. That’s what she meant.”
“Yeah? Maybe she was referring to your mother, Aunt Millie, and Aunt Betty Anne getting off my ass. That would be a big change, don’t you think?” He ruffled her mop of red hair affectionately, eager to get off the subject of Vivi and finish up his cooking. “Go back inside and sit down. Dinner will be done in a minute.”
“Listen up, everyone! I have a couple of toasts to make.”
The living room fell quiet, or as quiet as a living room full of Italians could be, at the sound of Michael’s announcement. The family was seated around the long foldout table Anthony had borrowed from his Aunt Connie, with Mikey’s children seated at a smaller “kids’ table,” which Little Ant seemed to resent bitterly, if the piercing stare he kept locked on Anthony was any indication. Aunt Millie had put out her cigarette. Gemma was practically salivating as she stared at the lamb in the center of the table. Anthony tried not to think about how fast the food might be cooling. All he could think was, This had better be quick, Mikey.
“First, a toast to the family.” Beaming, Michael looked around the table. “I’m so happy we’re all together tonight.”
Everyone raised their wineglasses and touched them together, murmuring their agreement.
“Next, a toast my brother, Anthony, the best chef in all of Brooklyn, who cooked this fantastic meal we’re about to eat.”
Anthony stood up and took a bow as his relatives applauded.
“Next—”
“Is this gonna take a long time?” Aunt Millie interrupted with a growl. “Because if you’re gonna go on the way you usually do, I’ll just step outside for a quick cigarette.”
Anthony glanced down, suppressing a laugh as he shook open his napkin. Looking back up, he was glad to see his brother looked on the verge of laughter, too. “It’ll only be a few more seconds, I swear,” said Michael.
“You ever think of getting remarried, Aunt Millie?” asked Anthony. “I hear Joe Camel’s available.”
Aunt Millie seemed not to appreciate the joke as the family laughed. She gave Anthony a dismissive backhanded wave, sinking deeper in her chair with a scowl.
Michael’s attention was turned toward the kids’ table, his eyes blazing with pride as he looked at his son. “I want to toast my son, Little Anthony, who helped his uncle prepare this meal. Your mother and I are so proud of what a great cook you’re becoming.” He turned back to Anthony. “You better watch it, bro. You’ve got some serious competition coming your way in a few years.”
Anthony looked down at his lap to cover the mist forming in his eyes and then glanced at Little Ant. The kid looked elated.
“Can we eat now?” Dominica whined from the kids’ table. “I’m, like, starving.”
“One more thing,” said Michael.
Everyone groaned.
“You all know I’ve been playing Mister Mom for the past year or so while my beautiful wife”—Michael raised his glass in salute to Theresa, who blushed—“went out to work and patiently put up with a mopey, depressed cidrule who couldn’t manage the household if his life depended on it. My brother put up with a lot from me, too, and saved my butt on too many occasions to count when I was too scatterbrained to cook.
“I’m pleased to announce that as of June, I’m going to be out of everyone’s hair. Kidco Corporation has asked me to come back to be the Blades assistant coach, and I’ve accepted the job.”
The table erupted with cheers of “Congratulations!” and a frenzied clinking of glasses. Anthony looked across the table at Theresa. “Thank God,” she mouthed to him. “No kidding,” Anthony mouthed back. It was turning out to be a good day. Only one other thing could have made it perfect.
A week later, Anthony strolled into Al’s Deli for his usual six a.m. cup of coffee and ham and egg on a roll, and Vivi was there. The sight of her without Natalie in tow took him aback. Then he remembered, Vivi’s grand opening was in just a few days. She was up to receive early morning deliveries from suppliers just like he was.
“The usual, Al,” he called over the counter. The deli owner nodded and scurried off to make Anthony’s sandwich.
“Hello,” said Vivi. It was spring, but early mornings were still cold, and she was wearing an oversized fisherman’s sweater over baggy jeans that made her look like a waif. For a split second Anthony entertained the thought that the sweater might belong to Bernard Napoleon, but he purged it from his mind. He’d seen her in the sweater this past winter, her hair tied behind her
back just the way it was now, her pale skin without blemish. Jesus, Anthony thought. Why couldn’t she at least look like crap in the morning like everyone else?
“How are you?’ Vivi ventured. She was holding a tall foam cup that he assumed to be full of coffee.
“Fine,” said Anthony. Where’s your sister, Mademoiselle Hyde? He was tempted to ask, but refrained. Somehow, it seemed wrong to be combative before the sun was even up. “How are you?”
“Very well.” She took a sip of coffee, gasping as she pulled it away from her mouth. “It’s boiling!”
“Al always makes it too hot,” Anthony said under his breath. “Take off the lid for a couple of minutes and blow on it. It should be fine.”
Vivi looked dubious, but she did as he advised.
“Up for deliveries?” he asked.
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.”
She carefully ventured another sip of coffee, wincing. “Still too hot.”
“I told you a couple of minutes. It’s only been five seconds.”
“Were you counting?”
Anthony rolled his eyes and kept silent. He didn’t want to think about how alive this was making him feel.
Al passed him his own cup of coffee, and with great exaggeration, Anthony took off the lid and began blowing onto the cup, counting under his breath just to see how she’d react. “One…two…three…”
“Did you get the invitation to my opening?”
“Four…five…six…”
“Anthony—”
“Seven…eight…nine…”
“Fine, I get your point!” Vivi huffed with a small stamp of the foot he found adorable. “I’ll let my coffee cool some more.”
“Always listen to the master,” said Anthony with a suave smile. He took the sandwich from Al and paid for it, moving toward the door. “Want to walk back with me? Or—”
“That would be fine.”
They left the deli together, walking in the gray dark toward their respective restaurants. Anthony hated the idea of her out walking alone at this hour, but knew if he said so, he’d be giving her ammunition to use against him. He kept his instincts under control…for about ten seconds.
“No offense, Vivi, but you shouldn’t be out alone at this hour.”
“I know,” she said, which shocked the hell out of him. “That’s why I’m picking up my new car later today. Actually, it’s not new, it’s used, but it’s new to me.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Anthony, relieved. “What kind did you get?”
“A Honda Civic.”
“Good car.”
“That’s what I’m told.”
By who? Anthony thought. Bernard Parlezvouz? They were walking slowly, both of them trying not to let their scalding, filled-to-the-brim coffees splash over the sides as they continued blowing onto the hot liquid.
“You never answered my question,” said Vivi. “About the opening.”
“I got the invite.”
“And?”
He could feel her studying him as he kept his eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of him. “And what?”
“Are you going to come?” she asked with a slight hint of impatience in her voice.
“Do you want me to come?” Anthony paused to take a sip from his coffee. He still wasn’t looking at her. A garbage truck passed by, the driver turning to look at them as he rumbled down the street. Anthony wondered what he thought, seeing a man and a woman stopped in the middle of an empty sidewalk at six in the morning, drinking coffee. Who was he kidding? The guy didn’t think anything. This was New York.
His question hung in the dark quiet between them. Anthony took another sip of coffee, waiting.
“Yes, I want you to come,” Vivi eventually murmured. “Of course I do.”
“Then I’ll come.”
They resumed walking. Anthony pulled his ham and egg sandwich out of the bag, handing her half.
“What is this?” Vivi asked, looking at the sandwich distrustfully.
“Just eat it. Trust me.”
He watched as Vivi took a bite. She always ate so delicately, so carefully, fully appreciating every bite. “Delicious,” she concluded. “But the roll is a bit soggy.”
“It’s supposed to be soggy.”
“If you say.” She took another careful bite, nodding appreciatively. “Mmm. Not good.”
“Not bad,” Anthony corrected.
Vivi gave an embarrassed little laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m still learning.”
“It takes time. You need to be patient.”
The use of the word “patience” made the molecules in the air around them freeze. Anthony wondered if Vivi thought he was sending her some kind of veiled message. That wasn’t his intent, but if she took it that way, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.
“I’m low on patience,” she confessed with a weary sigh. “Natalie is living with me, and with Vivi’s opening…” She shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m very distracted these days.”
“You’ll feel better once the bistro opens. Don’t worry.”
“I hope you’re right.”
This time he looked at her as she searched his face. A thin band of dawn was creeping over the rooftops, enough light for him to really look into her eyes. What he saw there gave him hope. There was concern. Genuine care, even.
Vivi lightly touched his wrist. “How are you feeling these days?”
“I’m feeling okay,” he said, which for the most part was true, though the tingling spot on his wrist where she’d just touched him was somewhat distracting.
“The dreams…?”
“Gone,” he said curtly.
Vivi blew out a breath. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
Glad enough to reconsider your decision? Anthony wondered as a lukewarm breeze swept the street, sending an empty soda can rolling into the gutter. Glad enough to realize you still care about me? They lingered there on the sidewalk, both at a seeming loss for words. He knew he couldn’t touch her the way he longed to. Yet he couldn’t escape the feeling that here was his chance to say something. Do something, even if it made him look like a fool. The next time he saw her, she’d be surrounded by admirers at her bistro’s opening. This was his shot—here, in the midst of the mundane, where real life happened, the two of them drinking too-hot coffee and splitting a runny egg sandwich.
“I miss you, Vivi.” The words came out hoarse, as if his lips didn’t want to surrender them.
Vivi looked down at the sidewalk. Long, agonizing seconds passed before she finally tilted her face to his. “I should go,” she said softly.
He watched as she walked across the street and opened the door to her restaurant, silently slipping inside. Did she go because she felt the same way, but couldn’t tell him? Or because she didn’t feel the same way but didn’t want to hurt him? He’d lost his ability to read her. Maybe he’d never really had it.
He made a vow to himself right there on the sidewalk: never again. Screw Gemma and her woo-woo predictions. Screw his brother and sister-in-law telling him to be patient. From now until the day he was too old to clutch a sauce ladle in his hand, Dante’s would be his life.
Chapter 28
Vivi’s lack of response set the tone for Anthony’s day. The seafood delivery was late. Worse, the produce wasn’t up to par. This was getting to be a pattern. Today it was droopy lettuce, last week it was bruised tomatoes. He sent the driver back with a blistering note and the lettuce to boot, making a mental note to call the offices of the distributor later in the day. Dante’s had contracted with them for years, but contracts could be broken.
At ten thirty, his sous chef, Sam, called to tell him he had the flu and couldn’t come in. Though it left him shorthanded, Anthony preferred Sam take the sick time rather than come into work and risk infecting the rest of the staff, not to mention the customers.
Finally, Aldo walked in hours before his shift, puffing on his trademark off-hours cigarillo. Anthony worried that he m
ight be going senile.
“What’s up, old man?” Anthony boomed over the chatter of the kitchen staff, who were already working away.
“I want a raise,” Aldo declared loudly.
The kitchen fell silent. Anthony put down the mezzaluna he was using to chop hazelnuts and, taking the old man gently by the elbow, steered him out into the dining room.
“What are you talking about? You just got a raise six months ago. You’re probably pulling down more than Mayor Bloomberg at this point.”
Aldo looked petulant. “I need more. Or I’ll quit. For real.”
Anthony peered at him with concern. “You in some kind of trouble? You’re not in bed with those bookies again, are you?”
Anthony had bailed Aldo out once, and he knew for a fact his own father had bailed him out a couple of times. If Aldo was into the Murphy brothers again for a fat sum of dough, Anthony would kill him.
“Of course not.” Aldo’s nostrils flared with insult. “I was talking to Pietro.” Pietro was Aldo’s oldest friend, another waiter who worked for a restaurant called Michael’s in Sheepshead Bay. “He’s been working two years less than me and he gets two dollars an hour more than me! You think that’s right?”
“I’m sure you get more in tips.”
“A man has to eat, Anthony!”
Anthony squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He needed this today like he needed a hole in the head. “Let me think about it, okay?”
Aldo pointed a bony finger at him. “Don’t you forget how long I’ve worked here. I helped build this place with your father.”
“Broke his balls is more like it.”
Aldo took a long, deep drawl on his cigarillo, blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth like a gangster. “I want an answer now or I quit.”
Since Aldo quit at least once, if not twice, a month, Anthony called his bluff.
“Okay, quit,” he told him, heading back toward the kitchen. “Just don’t be late for your shift tonight.”
But Aldo didn’t show.
The next morning, Anthony tried calling him, but he got no answer. He’d managed to get another one of his waiters, Tommy, to fill in for the ornery old bastard, but it wasn’t the same. While competent, Tommy didn’t have the same panache as Aldo, nor was he a Bensonhurst legend the way Aldo was. Since Aldo had always had a soft spot for Michael, Anthony decided it might be best if his brother tried to cajole the old fool back to work.
Just a Taste Page 29
