“Carly Fiorina—the one who’s not really Italian—is already married, but she’s marrying a guy named Beauregard?” Pop took a handful of popcorn. “That’s just weird. Don’t they know that polygamy is illegal? What country are they from, anyway?”
“No, you’re misunderstanding, Cosmo.” Mama hit Pop with a pillow and the bowl of popcorn went flying across the room and landed on the floor, spilling everywhere. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?” He rolled his eyes. “These political candidates—the ones we’re entrusting our country to—are leading secret lives and you’re worried about a little popcorn on the rug?”
Mama knelt down and started picking up kernels and putting them in the bowl.
“They’re not leading secret double-lives, Pop,” I said.
“Well, I guess you’re right. If this DeVine fellow is marrying a woman who’s already got a husband and they’re talking about it publicly I guess we could hardly call it a secret. But what’s this world coming to, I ask you? We need folks we can trust in the White House, not people with loose morals.”
“Well, the rest of you can vote for whoever you like.” Mama looked up from her spot on the floor, her gaze resting on the TV screen. “I do believe I’m voting for that fellow right there, that young, handsome young man with the beautifully combed hair.”
“Rubio?” D.J. shrugged. “He seems pretty solid.”
“Oh, he’s solid all right.” Mama’s eyes widened and she almost dropped the popcorn bowl. “Yes, I do believe I’ve found my candidate.”
“We can’t choose our candidates based on their heritage or their good looks,” I reminded them. “We have to vote our conscience.”
“My conscience says to vote for this guy.” A funny smile turned up the edges of mama’s lips. “But I promise to pray about it.”
“Someone needs to pray,” Pop said. “So many strange choices. Remember the old days, when it was easy to choose a candidate? You just voted for the person everyone else in the family voted for. These days everyone marches to their own drumbeat. Families divided. Not sure I like that.”
“So, it makes more sense to vote for someone just because your uncle or son or brother tells you to?” Rosa rolled her eyes. “Those days are over. I want to make my own choices, even if it means no one else in the family speaks to me.”
“I’ll speak to you, honey.” Laz pulled her close and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Even if you don’t vote for me for president.”
“You? You’re running for president?” She snorted.
“Maybe.”
“Well, if you decide to run, I’ll definitely vote for you. Might be in the first time in years I truly believed in a candidate.” Rosa give him a passionate kiss, right there in front of God and everybody.
“It’ll be good to have your support.” Laz said. “Makes a man feel like a winner to have a good woman behind him.”
And that, I supposed, was what Beau DeVine was thinking right about now. Surely the love and support that Victoria offered gave him the courage to keep going, even when he didn’t feel like it.
“So, where’s that other lady?” Laz squinted at the TV. “The one we keep hearing so much about on the news.”
“Hillary?” D.J. settled back on the sofa. “You won’t be seeing her tonight. She’s with the other party.”
“She went to another party?” Laz yawned. “I can understand that. This one’s a little boring, if you want my honest opinion. I’d go to another party, too, but no one invited me.”
“Not a party party, Laz,” Rosa said. “We’re talking about a political party.”
“I’ve seen those big political shindigs on the news and they don’t look like much fun to me. All those people shaking hands and kissing babies and such. They’d be better off forgetting the parties and sticking to the things that matter.”
“We’re not saying Hillary is kissing babies, Laz. We’re saying she’s not debating tonight because she has different political ideologies. She’s making a run for the White House too, but you won’t see her during this evening’s event.”
“Ah. Gotcha.” Uncle Laz calmed down.
Mama shook her head. “I just don’t understand why Hillary would want to go back to the White House, anyway. I mean, if I ever made it out alive, I’d never go back.”
“Maybe she wants to change the color of the drapes,” Rosa suggested.
Mama shook her head. “The president doesn’t change the drapes. There’s got to be more to it than that.”
“She could if she wanted,” Rosa countered. “If she’s the president.”
“True.” Mama nodded.
“Besides, I was speaking figuratively. Maybe she feels like her time there wasn’t done, so she needs to go back to finish up.”
“Maybe, but I still say, if I ever lived in the White House and made it out with my dignity intact, I would head home to Texas to live with the normals.”
“Who are you calling normal?” Laz asked. “Speak for yourself.”
“He has a point,” D.J. added.
We settled down and watched the entire debate. Laz provided comic relief, and it would be an understatement to say that he didn’t exactly care for Beau DeVine’s answers. Still, we made it through the debate without anyone in the family getting too worked up. Well, except Mama. She appeared to swoon every time Marco Rubio came on the screen.
About ten minutes after the debate ended my cell phone rang. I was surprised when I saw Victoria’s number on the other end. For some reason, visions of Secret Servicemen ran through my head. I answered to an exuberant squeal from the other end.
“Bella! Did you watch the debate?”
“I did. We all did.”
“Thank you! Didn’t my Beau-Beau do a great job?”
“Yes, he—”
“I mean, he really put a couple of those guys in their place, you know? And he showed those commentators a thing or two! He knows his stuff. And his numbers are up already. I think voters are responding to his answers.”
“Sure. He did a great j—”
“Anyway, he had a great idea, and I love it, too. When I told him that your aunt and uncle have a show on the Food Network he asked if he could be a guest. See, Beau really loves to cook. He’s great in the kitchen. And he wants people to see that side of him. He thinks he’ll win over the female voters.”
“Well, women aren’t the only ones who cook, Victoria, so I’m not sure that’s a—”
“Oh, I know. He just feels like the voters see him as this tough, firm candidate and that can be a little intimidating to female constituents. So, he wants to set the record straight and show them what a softie he is in the kitchen. And he’s a great cook, too! You should taste his Veal Parmesan. It’s so yummy. And we always laugh so much when we’re cooking together. So, what do you say? Will you ask Rosa and Laz if they’ll schedule an episode with Beau-Beau in it?”
“I could ask, but the Network always schedules their show in advance.”
“We’ll deal with the network. They’ll be happy to have the future president on, I’m sure. So, if they’re okay with it, do you think your aunt and uncle will be? I think they’ll fall in love with my Beau-Beau.”
I bit my tongue to keep from telling her that Uncle Laz had already formed an opinion of her sweet Beau-Beau. Before I could say, “I’ll talk to them,” she ended the call, her focus now on her husband-to-be.
“What was all that about, Bella?” D.J. asked. “Sounded strange.”
“Um, yeah. Strange would be the right word.” I turned my attention to my aunt. “She wants to know if you guys would have Beau as a guest on an upcoming episode. Turns out he makes a great Veal Parmesan.”
Laz let out a grunt. “Let me guess. . .he wants to win over more voters?”
“I guess. But really, I think it might be fun. Don’t you?” I offered what I hoped would look like a winning smile.
“Might be good for a few laughs,” Laz said,
and then quirked a brow. “At his expense, I mean.”
“I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much joking around,” I countered. “The house will be filled with Secret Servicemen. You know?”
At this news, mama began to fan herself. “I don’t know if I like this idea or not. I mean, it would be fun to one day say that we had the president of the United States over to cook in our kitchen, but what if things don’t go well? Then what?”
“Hey, it was his idea. And what could go wrong?”
D.J. gave me a “You’ve got to be kidding, right?” look but I did my best to ignore him. Well, until my father doubled over in laughter. Mama joined in and before long we were all talking about the comedic what-ifs. I had a feeling Beau and Victoria would be coming over to cook. . .and sooner, rather than later. How it would end? Well, that was anyone’s guess.
CHAPTER FOUR
I Can’t Help Falling in Love
Politics is too serious a matter to be left to the politicians.
Charles de Gaulle
Over the next couple of days Beau DeVine took a jump in the polls. Looked like several people really liked the guy. He’d won me over with a couple of his answers during the debate, but I still hadn’t made up my mind yet.
Apparently Beau had some pull—not just in political circles, but with the Food Network, too. He managed to get himself scheduled for Rosa and Laz’s next episode of The Italian Chef. Not that Beau was Italian. Or a chef, for that matter. Like Laz said, he probably just wanted to win over the voters. Still, the idea of having him in our home made my stomach churn, and not in a good way. I had to wonder why we couldn’t spill the beans about the wedding venue when Beau was so willing to appear publicly on my aunt and uncle’s show. I got my answer from Laz, who told me that the episode wouldn’t air until Valentine’s weekend. Even the Food Network had been sworn to secrecy. Go figure.
On the following Monday afternoon Beau and Victoria arrived at the Rossi home with a full entourage of Secret Servicemen. I wasn’t sure who was more nervous—the bride-to-be or Mama and Pop, who’d never greeted a presidential candidate before.
The Secret Service fellas made an interesting complement to the Food Network crew, who seemed more than a little surprised to find themselves surrounded on every side by men in suits. Rosa took it all in stride, particularly once she got to know Beau in person. He personally pinned a “Go with Beau” button on her apron and she beamed with delight.
Laz, on the other hand, wouldn’t take the button. “Sorry, dude.” He put his hands up in the air. “Don’t want to make a commitment just yet. Still haven’t made up my mind. Lots of candidates to choose from. And I’m thinking of a run, myself.”
“You are? Ah. I see.” Beau looked a bit disappointed, as if he’d never been rejected before.
“Yep. After seeing the lineup the other night I thought I might just run for president, myself.” Laz gave Beau a knowing look. “What do you think of them apples?”
“I think you’re a little late to the party,” Mama said. “Which clues me in to the fact that you’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding at all.” Laz crossed his arms at his chest. “I’m seriously thinking of running for President of the United States.”
“Will you run as a Republican or Democrat?” Beau asked. “You’ll need to decide quickly if you’re going to get the party behind you.”
“I will run as. . .” Laz paused and appeared to be thinking it through. “I’ll create my own party. We’ll call it the. . .” He pursed his lips. “I’ll call it the Food Party. I’ll be the first-ever Food Party candidate.”
“Food Party?” Beau laughed and slapped his knee. “That’s delicious. Get it? Delicious?”
Before long we were all laughing. Well, all but the Secret Service guys, who apparently didn’t see the humor in Uncle Laz’s joke.
“Yes, I’ll be the best candidate anyone’s ever seen,” Laz added. “Feeding folks from coast to coast. That’ll be my slogan. What do you think?”
“Feeding folks from coast to coast.” Beau paused and appeared to be thinking seriously about my uncle’s idea. “I think that’s a noble cause, Lazarro. Kudos for thinking outside the box.”
“That’s me, an outside-the-box kind of guy.” Laz slapped him on the back and Beau started coughing. This brought the Secret Service guys running. They backed away when Beau started laughing.
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road. At least we’re not making tea party foods tonight,” Beau said. “We’ll save that for the wedding.”
“Interesting theme for a wedding.” Laz said. “Never been to a tea party, myself.”
“Right. I know it’s different.” Beau gave his bride-to-be a knowing look. “But, really, the whole tea party themed wedding was my idea. Kind of a political nod to the ultra-conservatives. They really seem to like me, and I want to keep that relationship strong.”
“You’re telling me that you themed your wedding to attract voters?” Mama looked flabbergasted by this notion. “Really?”
“Well, yes and no.” The bride scooted into the spot next to Beau. “After all, my name is Victoria and I’ve always loved the Victorian era. So, it was a mutual decision, I assure you. The whole political slant is just a side note.” She busied herself, putting on an apron on her husband-to-be, all chatter and nervous joking as she worked.
“Humph.” Laz stepped into his position behind the island. “My candidacy is looking more reasonable every moment.”
The conversation about politics shifted as the producer gave last minute instructions before filming. Minutes later, with the rest of us looking on from the hallway, the shoot got underway.
The episode started with Laz and Rosa cooking some of their Eggplant Parmesan. Yum. The tantalizing aromas wafting around the kitchen made me want to dive in. Alas, I could not. I had to keep my focus on their guest, the potential future president of the United States. Next, it was Beau’s turn. He prepped the veal, chatting all the while.
“So, we’re making Veal Parmesan, are we?” Uncle Laz asked. “One of my favorites.”
“Mine too.” Beau gave him a polite nod and kept working.
Turned out Beau DeVine was a consummate pro in front of the camera, even without a commentator feeding him questions. He knew just how to play to it with the correct angles and expressions. And I had to admit, he was shockingly handsome when one saw him up close. Dark hair, perfectly styled. Great skin. White teeth—suspiciously straight. Solid physique. Great suit. And he seemed to know his way around the kitchen, which won him over to Laz in a hurry. The guy had the perfect comeback to every joke, the ideal answer to every question, and the best possible camera angle for all of it.
Only one problem—he couldn’t exactly focus on the skillet of veal while showing off. He tried to crack a joke, but somehow dropped a spatula into the hot oil, which splattered up and over the edge of the pan. The hot oil shot down into the fire below, and it began to blaze. Rosa let out a scream. A half-second later, the bottom of the skillet was in flames.
You would’ve thought the whole house was going up in smoke. The Secret Service stopped the shoot and a medic was called in to make sure Beau was okay. He was, of course. Rosa cleaned up the mess, salvaged the veal and the shoot got underway again in short order. Beau didn’t look any worse for the wear, and neither did the veal, for that matter. Our guest of honor managed to get in a couple of politician jokes.
“Oh, you like jokes, do you, Mr. DeVine?” Laz squared his shoulders. “Well, that’s good, because I have a great one for you.”
“Go for it, Lazarro.” Beau continued his work on the veal, which, with the sauce and cheese, was starting to look very much like something Rosa and Laz would’ve concocted.
Uncle Laz reached over Beau to grab a wooden spoon. “Did you hear about the Italian chef who died?”
“No.” Beau flipped the veal, revealing a golden crust.
“He pasta way.” Laz slapped his leg. “Get it? Pasta way?”
Beau gave a polite chuckle, his gaze never leaving the skillet. “Good one, Lazarro. Good one.”
“Now I have a question for you,” Laz said. “Do you know what the word ‘politics’ means?”
“Well, of course.” Beau looked squarely into the camera as he responded. “It—”
“It’s from the word poly, which means many.” Laz gave him a knowing look.
“Yes, of course, and—”
“And from the word ticks which means blood sucking parasite.” Laz let out a raucous laugh and the cameraman started laughing so hard he almost dropped the camera. To my right, I saw Victoria flinch. O’Conner, who was standing to my left, didn’t take the joke very well, either. He cleared his throat, a sure sign that we needed to get on with this before he interrupted the shoot again. Beau lifted the perfectly cooked veal from the skillet and placed in the empty platter in Rosa’s hands.
“Didn’t like that one, eh?” Laz’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I have another one for you. What do you call a fake noodle?” Before Beau could respond, he hollered, “An im-pasta. Get it? An im-pasta? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
I had a feeling the Food network would be editing this episode. Heavily. For now, though, Rosa and Laz had to taste Beau’s offering. He cut a couple of bite-sized pieces of the veal and I found my mouth watering. Rosa and Laz each grabbed a fork and dove in. Rosa’s eyes closed and a delirious expression flooded over her face.
Laz’s eyes widened as he swallowed. Afterwards, he gave Beau a slap on the back. “Young fella, I tell you what. . .that was some of the best Veal Parmesan I’ve ever eaten, and that’s saying a lot.”
“Why, thank you.” Beau’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “That means a lot coming from you, Mr. Rossi.”
“Yes sir, some of the best I’ve eaten.” Laz took his now-empty fork and pointed it at Beau’s chest. “I’ll make you a deal.”
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