by Shirley Jump
"Edible?" Mary Louise's eyes widened. "You... eat it?"
"I figured you, or Joey, might need a little sustenance on the honeymoon."
Mary Louise turned strawberry red, shoved the package of Popsicle-flavored panties under the table and reached for the next gift. Quick.
"I wanted to talk about that plan," Antonio said, his voice low so the oohing and ahhing Mary Louise Zipparetto Fan Club couldn't overhear. "We can talk business now and get down to a little 'other business' later." He nibbled at her neck.
His kiss felt like the overzealous welcome of a sloppy uncle. What had happened? He used to set her skin on fire. She couldn't blame her lack of reaction on a wineglass because this time, she hadn't been drinking.
It had to be the built-in audience. Mary Louise and her friends, all talking about the gifts and her upcoming marriage and in between, how cute Dante was. She knew they were all speculating about her and just salivating for an opening so they could grill her for more information. After all, a gorgeous man had shown up and was now nuzzling at her neck, right after the owner of the hippest restaurant in the North End had made it clear he had a little unfinished business of his own with her.
Maria forced herself back to Antonio, drawing her neck out of kissing range. "So, what's this plan?"
Maybe if they talked, she'd rekindle the flame from high school again. Because it sure as hell seemed to have gone out since that dinner.
"I might have told you, I work for a securities firm in California?''
"Yes, you mentioned it."
'Well, there's this great opportunity that I came across. Remember those tan-through swimsuits that were on the market years ago?"
"Yeah. They were practically transparent." And tiny enough that only a mouse could wear them.
"Well, I've found someone who has an idea for tan-through Speedos. It's the wave of the future for men's beachwear. No more white butt cracks on your plumber."
Maria blinked. "Tan-through Speedos?" She didn't even want to try to wrap her mind around that mental image.
Antonio nodded, his eyes full of excitement. "It's brilliant. And I want in. In fact I don't just want in, I want to own the company."
"That sounds... great."
"But here's where I need a little help." He toyed with the back of her hand, trailing a finger down, slow and easy. "The banks, they're picky. You know how they are."
"Yeah. I've been in business with Rebecca and Candace for a few years. We deal with banks all the time."
"And they want all these papers." Antonio let out a gust. "A mountain of them."
"It's a necessary part of getting financing. I'm sure you deal with that all the time, working in the securities industry."
"Well, I'm more an adviser than a pencil pusher. But you"—he pointed at her—"you really seem to know about this stuff."
She nodded, sipping at her Diet Coke. "I did the paperwork for Gift Baskets when we first went into business and handled most of the financials. Rebecca and Candace and I each have our own strengths and mine is in the business end of it."
"You were always so smart," Antonio said, smiling at her. "Smarter than me."
"I got better grades than you, that's all."
"You gave me almost every grade I ever got." He started up on her hand again, his gaze watching his index finger tracing a slow circle around her knuckles. "So I thought, since you were so smart, you could help me."
"I'd be glad to give you some advice."
"I don't really need advice," the finger traced a smaller circle, "more... help."
Maria shifted in her chair. "What kind of help are you talking about?"
"Well, yours, of course."
"You're hedging. Why don't you spell it out?"
"I need a business plan. And I know you're the perfect one to write it for me." His smile was wide and full of good orthodontia.
"A business plan?" Maria eyed him. "Do you have any idea how much work goes into one of those?"
"Well, yes. That's why I'm asking you." He covered her hand with his own. "I'm so busy. I don't have time to do it."
"You want to buy the business. You should be able to find the time to do this yourself. It's part of being an entrepreneur, Antonio."
He squeezed her hand. "I just want to be an owner of a good thing. Get in on something that's going to make me millions."
"In other words, you don't want to do any of the hard work."
He grinned. "Not if I can help it."
She yanked her hand away from his. "I'm not going to do this for you."
"Why not? It's a chance to help me and in turn, I can make you very happy." His voice was deep and full of innuendo.
Innuendos that no longer held any appeal whatsoever. "I don't think so, Antonio."
"What, don't you want to be my cheerleader anymore?"
"No, I don't. And frankly, I think you're an asshole."
He drew back. "What? Why?"
"Because you're lazy and you're using me. And those two things aren't worth half an orgasm. Even on that, you cheated me back on prom night."
His gaze turned steely. "Well, maybe I'd have been more inclined to work harder if you looked a little more like my ideal woman."
Maria got to her feet, her chair teetering for a minute before falling back into place. The women swiveled to look at her and eavesdrop, but she didn't care. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you are a little"—his gaze roamed over her form—"pudgy. Not my type at all."
"Pudgy? Pudgy! How dare you!" She jerked his coat off the back of the chair and shoved it into his chest "Get the hell out of this restaurant, out of my life and out of my city."
He rose and draped the black leather over his arm. "What, you can't take a little constructive criticism?"
"What I don't take is bullshit from jerks like you. Now get out." She gave him a little push.
He stumbled backwards two steps. And actually looked surprised. Apparently, not many women rejected Antonio.
"Is there a problem here?" Franco asked, hurrying over to the table. "I bring a special treat for the bride." He hoisted a large dish of zabaglione with a smile, then laid the bowl and a tray of smaller serving dishes and biscotti before Mary Louise.
"No, not anymore. The problem is just leaving," Maria said.
Mary Louise had also hurried over. "Oh, don't go," she said. "Why, you're the only man at our party." She gave him a bright smile.
Five minutes ago, Mary Louise had been too wrapped up in her thong panties and edible underwear to hear the exchange between Maria and Antonio. Now, when he was clearly being a jerk, she was trying to play hostess?
"Mary Louise, I don't need you to interfere. Antonio and I—"
"Were just ending things," Antonio interrupted.
"You broke up? At my bachelorette party?"
Antonio gave a somber nod, as if it were the most tragic event in his life. Just as he had in high school, Antonio capitalized on every bit of female sympathy he could find.
"He—" Maria began.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mary Louise said, cutting Maria off. She laid a hand on Antonio's arm. "Why don't you come over here and keep us girls company? Maria's got another friend in the kitchen, anyway." She gave Maria a jealous, catty look.
"That's not true. We—" Then Maria stopped trying to explain. Why waste her breath with these people, anyway?
"Antonio's right," Mary Louise said, looking down her skinny nose. "You are pudgy. And I think you should leave my party. You're causing a disturbance."
"Oh, I haven't caused anything yet." And before she could think about what she was doing, she picked up the bowl of zabaglione and dumped it onto Mary Louise's head. "You could use a few calories."
A collective shriek went through the restaurant crowd. Maria picked up her purse and turned away from the table, leaving Mary Louise gasping through custard and Antonio crooning over her, offering to help clean it off.
Too bad there hadn't been two bowls.
She'd almost reached the door when Franco hurried up to her. "Oh, don't go," he said. "Stay. Have a glass of wine."
Maria paused, closing her eyes. She let out a sigh, regret replacing the air in her lungs. "Franco, I'm sorry about the thing with the dessert back there. Sometimes, my Italian temper takes over and I act without thinking."
Franco shrugged. "I would have done it if you didn't. That woman, she is a thorny stick waiting to be broken by the right foot."
Maria laughed. "You're right about that."
He nodded toward the lounge area, separated from the restaurant by a glass door. "Go in there. Enjoy yourself."
All she wanted to do was go home and retreat into a lump of self-pity. Consume as many calories as she could and sob over the fact that all her work had been for nothing. Antonio saw her as a fat, unattractive woman who was only good for one thing—to do his homework. Nothing had changed since high school.
But if she walked out that door right now, she'd look like she was going off to do exactly that—sulk. And the last thing she wanted any of them to think was that Maria Pagliano was bothered by one damned word they'd said.
"You're right, Franco." She turned on her heel and headed toward the bar.
"I'm always right." He held the door for her. "Franco is one smart cookie."
When Franco came hurrying into the kitchen, Dante knew something was up. "You, go out. Get a drink," Franco said.
"You know I don't drink when I'm working."
"Get a Coke. At the bar."
Dante looked at the bustling kitchen. "I really—"
"The kitchen won't explode if you leave for two minutes." Franco gave him a little push. "Now go."
"No. Not until you tell me who is in the bar."
Franco shrugged, doing his Marcel Marceau interpretation.
"Maria is in there, isn't she?"
He shrugged again.
"I have nothing to say to her."
"No?"
"No."
Franco busied himself with straightening a pile of forks in a plastic bin. "Always there are words to say. Sometimes only three words."
Damned if he'd ever say those three words to her. Not after she'd torn his heart better than the best Cuisinart on the marketplace. He was through chasing after her. Sometimes the hunter needed to let the damned deer get away. And go after some slow-moving elk instead.
"Didn't you see what she did?" Dante said. "She met another man here. After all we—" He shook his head. He wasn't going to finish that sentence. He wasn't even going to think about how that sentence ended.
He was done with Maria Pagliano. Done. Done.
Done.
"She gave him the boot." Franco nodded. "Good thing, too, or Franco might have had to throw him out He no good."
"I don't care."
Franco peered into Dante's eyes. "You can never lie to Franco. I know you since you were little boy. Your lies, they show in your eyes, right there, by the dot." Franco pointed, nearly blinding Dante in his show and tell.
"You have a job to do. And if you want to keep it, I suggest you get out there and tend to the customers."
"I go nowhere until you tend to your heart."
Dante let out a curse. "Fine, if it will make you feel better, I'll grab a soda and come back. But I'm not talking to her."
"Uh-huh. Two lovebirds in the same tree, they cannot help but chirp."
Dante shook his head and left the kitchen before Franco came up with another twisted homily.
She sat at the bar, the red dress riding up a little on her thighs, sipping at a soda. She crossed one leg over the other and his pulse accelerated.
Apparently, his hormones hadn't gotten the message from his brain yet. Oh, damn. This was a bad idea.
He turned to go back into the kitchen, but she saw him before he could go.
"Dante." Her voice was soft, not full of any message at all.
He nodded toward Sonny, the bartender. "Coke, please." If Sonny was surprised to see Dante in the bar in the middle of the evening getting his own beverage, he didn't show it He merely pushed the button on the dispenser to fill the glass, then slid it over.
Dante didn't sit on one of the bar stools because he didn't intend to stay. He looked at her, waiting for her to say something.
"I know you're mad at me," she said after a moment. "You have every right to be. What I did was wrong and stupid and—"
"I should have known better going into this thing. You warned me, after all." He took a sip of the Coke. It could have been water for all he tasted. "You don't want a man who comes with expectations you might have to deal with. You want some Rico Suave guy who's going to treat you like shit and then dump you for someone else."
She glanced away. "That's unfair."
He took a step forward. "Is it? I saw you with that guy. Antonio, was that his name? He had jerk all over him. You think by dating guys like that you can protect your heart. But all they do is help you build the wall around it."
The quaver in her lips told him the last sentence had hit home. But then she straightened and went back to being all Maria again. Tough cookie, right to the end.
"Dante, you don't understand."
Sonny had quietly slipped to the opposite end of the bar, busying himself with drying glasses and tending to the other customers. Dante lowered his voice so he wouldn't be overheard.
"I understand everything," he said. "You told me you like the illusion of control. And you know what? That's all you have. An illusion. You don't control a relationship because you aren't putting anything into it. You have to feel something, Maria, to have something to control. And you never felt anything for me at all."
"That's not true."
"It isn't? Then tell me what you felt. When you kissed me. When you made love with me. When you turned to another man in my restaurant."
She looked at him. A long moment passed and then she looked away, without saying anything.
"You're afraid to tell me what you feel. Because then you'd have to deal with it." He let out a half-laugh. "You're not in control of a damned thing, Maria."
"Walls keep you from being hurt, Dante. They stop people from getting in and breaking your—" She shook her head, as if she couldn't find the words she wanted.
"They also stop you from letting anyone who really cares get close. I like you," he said. "In fact, up until tonight, I thought I was falling in love with you." Her eyes widened and something lit inside them, then went out when he continued. "But I am not a masochist. I'm not going to keep throwing myself against a wall that isn't going to budge."
And then he left before he started listening to his foolish heart.
Mamma's Not-Everything-is-as-It-Seems Ravioli
2 pounds fresh spinach
1/2 pound ricotta cheese
2 eggs
2 cups grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
Salt and pepper
Ravioli sheets
Sauce:
1/2 cup butter
7 to 9 fresh sage leaves
You expected meat in my ravioli, no? Well, Mamma has another surprise up her sleeve. Wash the spinach well, then cook in boiling salted water until tender. Drain, let cool, then squeeze out as much water as you can. Use your muscles or ask your big strong man to use his.
Chop your spinach, then add the ricotta, eggs, Parmigiano, nutmeg, a little salt and pepper. Now, take your pasta sheets, one at a time. Don't let them dry out. Work fast because your daughter is not getting any younger. You need to teach her these lessons before she's old and gray and bitter.
Put a teaspoon of the filling on your pasta, two inches apart. Cover with a second sheet, then press down to form little pockets. Cut out squares with your pastry wheel, then let ravioli dry for half an hour. Long enough to talk with your child about her future.
Heat the butter and sage over low heat and do not let it burn. Then drop the ravioli into boiling salted water and cook for just a
little bit, a few minutes. Drain and serve with butter sauce before your daughter can escape out the back door. Show her with these raviolis that even Mamma sometimes has something a little different cooking in her kitchen.
Chapter Thirty-One
At the end of the day Tuesday, Mamma walked into Gift Baskets, a woman with a purpose. She had on her two-inch pumps that she usually reserved only for Mass, her purse under one arm, locked into place by her hand on the clasp, as if a mugger might come out of nowhere and snatch the Lillian Vernon personalized faux leather handbag.
"I want to speak to you," Mamma said.
"Mamma, what a surprise! You hardly ever come by the shop."
"I come now. My daughter tells her father to tell me to stop interfering. Why you do that?"
Maria let out a breath. She was afraid it might come to this. "Because you're always fixing me up with every single man in the North End. I wish you would stop trying to marry me off."
Her mother stood there for a second, saying nothing. A long second passed before she spoke again, her voice soft and sad. "All I want is for you to be happy."
"That's all I want, too." Maria sighed. "Listen, I have to close up the shop. Do you want to walk home together?"
Mamma nodded. "I come to see you. In the shop. On the street. No matter."
Maria turned off the lights and locked up the doors, then grabbed her purse before setting the alarm and leaving Gift Baskets.
They started down the sidewalk, heading toward home in the early April evening. "You are not happy, cara," Mamma said.
"I was, before all this happened."
"No. No you weren't."
Maria let out a gust. "How do you know that?"
They stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change. "I see your eyes, cara. In them is a lonely heart. You say you not want a man, but..."
"I don't need a man. That's different from wanting."
The light changed and they crossed the street, walking at the brisk pace that came from living in Boston all their lives.
"You don't need a man, maybe. But you need someone to love you."
"Mamma, I don't. Really."
