The Devil Served Desire

by Shirley Jump

  Her mother tsk-tsked her. "Everyone needs love. It's food for the soul."

  "My soul is well fed, believe me." She patted her hips. "Too well fed."

  Her mother didn't say anything for a while, just kept up her steady pace, those shoes making a steady click against the sidewalk. A few minutes later, they reached the entrance to the North End. "Why you hate marriage so much?"

  "I don't hate it. It's... it's not for me."

  They went on again in silence for a while and then crossed onto the street that led to her parents' house. "You don't want what your mother has?"

  How to answer that and keep her mother from disowning her, or worse, going into cardiac arrest right here on the Street? No matter what she said, there were bound to be hurt feelings. And truly, the last thing Maria wanted to do was hurt her mother. "I want different things in life. That's all."

  "You think your mamma live a life so bad?" she asked as they turned the corner.

  When Maria didn't answer, Mamma waved toward the entrance to her house. "You, come with me. I show you something." They entered the back door and Mamma waved her toward a kitchen chair. "Sit."

  Maria sat. She'd already disappointed her mother today, no sense disobeying her, too.

  Mamma took one of the blank-faced white roosters off the shelf and put it into Maria's hand. She tipped her chin, indicating the six-inch bird. "How much you think that's worth?"

  Maria tried really hard not to wrinkle up her nose at the ugly porcelain farm alarm. "Uh, ten bucks?"

  "Madonn!" Mamma threw up her hands. "On eBay, this one is two thousand, five hundred dollars."

  "eBay?" Maria shook her head. Had she heard her mother right? "Since when do you know about eBay?"

  "You think I live in a can of Franco American? I know more than you think."

  Maria's gaze dropped to the rooster in her hands. "He's worth over two thousand dollars?"

  Mamma nodded, beaming. "That one there," She pointed to a multicolored rooster sitting on the shelf above the stove. "Seven hundred. And that one over by the window, nine hundred."

  "Your roosters are worth that much money?"

  "How you think you go to college? Papa and I gave you that money. Where you think it come from?"

  At eighteen, she'd never thought about the ten thousand dollar check her mother had handed her at graduation. She did remember being glad a few roosters were missing from the kitchen and vaguely thinking something about some sucker at a garage sale getting them all.

  And now it turned out they were priceless art?

  She knew who the sucker was. And it wasn't Mamma. It was her daughter.

  "How do you know these roosters are valuable?"

  "I have the degree. I know you see the box in the upstairs closet the other day. And you wonder, why my mamma have that degree and never do anything? Well, I do something."

  "But... roosters?"

  Mamma shrugged. "I like roosters. That Picasso, he was crazy. You put crazy man's art in your house, you go crazy, too."

  Maria leaned back in her chair. "I never knew."

  'You think I only some married woman. Not so happy, huh?"

  "I never said—"

  "You not have to. I see it in your face." Mamma swallowed and toyed with the rooster dish towel on the stove. "This is why you think marriage is so bad. You not want to be like your mamma."

  She'd never realized that all her protests against marriage would hurt her mother—not because they'd put off Mamma's hopes for grandchildren—but because it made it seem like her mother's life wasn't good enough. Wasn't something to be proud of. To emulate.

  Maria had been wrong. Blind and wrong. She'd seen her mother through traditional eyes, never taking off the blinders and seeing her mamma was a woman who had it all.

  "Oh, Mamma," Maria said. "There's more to it than that. I didn't want to depend on a man who'd just hurt me in the end. I wanted to take care of myself."

  "You can do both, cara." Mamma took the rooster from Maria's hands and put it back on the shelf. "I take care of myself. And my family. And Papa, he takes care of me here." She pressed a hand over her heart.

  Maria got to her feet and crossed to her mother, taking her hands, her eyes misting. She looked at the face that was so like her own, but older and definitely wiser. "You did do that. And you surprised me."

  "Mammas do that sometimes." She smiled, her eyes misty, too.

  For a long moment, the two of them stood there, looking at each other with teary eyes, speaking the silent language of mother and daughter.

  Tears stung at the back of Maria's throat She drew her mother into a tight hug. Mamma's warm arms encircled her daughter back. And with that, the break between them was repaired.

  "Are all these roosters valuable?" Maria said, when they finally drew apart.

  Mamma laughed, catching a stray tear with the back of her hand. "No. Some I buy because I like the way they smile at me."

  "Mamma, roosters don't smile."

  "Mine do." Mamma patted the head of the white one on the shelf. "They make me happy."

  "And rich."

  "No, not rich. Just... comfortable. I don't need much."

  "All these years, you never said anything."

  "Why? This was mine. Papa doesn't care." She cupped Maria's chin. "You can marry and still have you."

  Maria grinned. "Do I have to collect chickens?"

  Mamma laughed. "Not chickens. They worth nothing. They not have the pride roosters have."

  Maria shook her head, chuckling. "It's always the men."

  Mamma nodded. "They are good to keep."

  "And to sell."

  "Papa, I won't sell him."

  "Why not?"

  Mamma grinned. "No category on eBay for used husbands."

  After a week, it became clear that Vita was no longer the top dog in the restaurant kennel. The phone had fallen silent, with only the regulars continuing to show up. The two new line chefs were hired away, along with two of the new waitresses, leaving Dante—

  About where he'd started before George Whitman's magic fairy pen had gifted his restaurant with a few weeks of success.

  "Boss, this place is falling apart," Rochelle said. She piled the dirty dishes by the dishwasher and then put the empty tray on the counter.

  It had to be a metaphor for his life. The restaurant was going down the tubes and he was unable to rescue it. Maria didn't want him and he couldn't rescue that, either.

  "Did the faucet go in the ladies' room again? I swear, that plumber—"

  "No, I don't mean the building. I mean Vita itself. Everybody's complaining. No one's getting their work done. Vinny's slow as a turtle on quaaludes getting my orders together. Even Franco isn't his usual cheery self."

  Dante sighed and rubbed out the kink in the back of his neck. "I’ll talk to them."

  "It isn't going to do any good." Rochelle straightened her order pad and pen in her pocket. "Face it. We got lucky once. Vita is never going to be in the 'Top of the Hub' category. Fate is too busy with other restaurants to bother with this one."

  She picked up her tray again and headed off to pick up the order for table eleven.

  The kink reappeared in Dante's neck. Twice as tight and three times as large. Maybe Rochelle was right. Maybe Vita wasn't meant to be anything more than it was.

  And maybe he was a fool for ever thinking differently.

  Monica's Be-Loved-for-Who-You-Are Fruit Salad

  Juice of 3 oranges

  Juice of 1 lemon

  1 banana, sliced

  2 apples, sliced

  1 pear, chunked

  2 peaches, chunked

  4 apricots, chunked

  2/3 cup red grapes, cut in halves

  2/3 cup raspberries

  Sugar, to taste (as sweet as you need it to be)

  Mix the juices in a bowl, then add all the fruits. Sprinkle sugar over all and stir to mix together. No other decorations or frou-frou needed. This is come as you are—and be loved
au naturel.

  Share with someone who loves you, rain or shine, in Kenneth Cole or Kathie Lee Gifford. Be sure to have a little kibble on hand, too, for the other unconditional love of your life.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  "I swear on my firstborn child, this is not some evil matchmaking scheme," Rebecca said on Saturday morning.

  "Yeah, yeah." Maria grinned. "I wouldn't put it past Mamma to conspire with your OB." She reached out and drew Rebecca into a hug. "Seriously, though, I'm happy for you. Congratulations."

  "And here I thought I was so tired because I was working too hard." Rebecca rubbed at her belly. "All the signs add up. I was too stupid to see them."

  "You're a mom, a wife, a business owner," Candace said, joining the two for a triple embrace. "I think it's understandable you might not notice a missed period or two."

  Rebecca shook her head. "Well, whether I'm ready or not, number two is on the way."

  Maria smiled. "I’m going to like being an aunt-by-proxy again. I can now spoil two kids and give them back to you, high on candy."

  "Not to mention spoiled with big, noisy presents." Candace grinned.

  "You two are all heart." Rebecca's smile edged into a frown and she sat back against the counter. Her face washed from pale to lime green. "Oh, damn. Here's that nasty side effect of morning-noon-and-night sickness."

  Maria laughed and grabbed Rebecca's spring jacket and purse off the coatrack. "Go home. Get some rest Have some crackers. And let Jeremy spoil you for as long as you can get away with it. Candace and I can handle the rest of the day. All of next week if you need it."

  "Aw, thanks. Listen, if you don't want to go to Vita, you can take those baskets over to Vogler Adver—"

  "Oh, no, that's all mine. I insist on a personal delivery of the Vogler order," Candace said.

  "Gee, wonder why you're volunteering." Maria grinned, then tossed her the van keys. "Go. Try not to drool over Michael. I'll go to Vita when you get back."

  "Can't help myself." Candace smiled. "I'm in love."

  Rebecca groaned. "You make me remember what I used to be like. A hundred years ago. Before"—she pressed a hand to her stomach—"being with my husband made me ill."

  Candace laughed. "It's a good ill, though."

  A contented smile filled Rebecca's face. "It is indeed."

  After a quick stop in the kitchen, Maria walked Candace and Rebecca out of the shop. "Here," she said, handing Rebecca a can of ginger ale and a package of crackers. "For the road. Just in case."

  A watery smile crossed Rebecca's lips. "This is why you two are my best friends."

  "Oh, I meant to tell you. Monica is on her way in," Candace said. "And I have a delivery to make. What a pity." She dangled the keys.

  Maria groaned. "Monica is coming by again? What's the big change this time?"

  "I think all she's doing is adding planes," Candace said. "You're getting off easy."

  "Do I want to know why?"

  "Apparently her fiancé is a member of the Wannabe Mile High Club."

  "Wannabe?"

  "He's never quite had the guts to do more than turn the bathroom lock to 'Occupied.' "

  "That's a start."

  "Hey, everyone has a mission."

  Maria laughed. "Mine is to get through this diet without killing myself or Mary Louise. The reunion is only three weeks away. But... I'm not so sure I want to go anymore."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know." Maria shrugged. "Stand around for a few hours, playing one-upmanship with a bunch of people I didn't like much then and I don't like much now. I don't have anything to prove anymore, so what's the point?"

  Candace chuckled. "Revenge, of course. Show them you've become a business owner. A success."

  "Everyone who is important to me already knows that."

  Rebecca cocked her head. "Boy, you're sure sounding different lately. You practicing yoga or something?"

  Maria shook herself. "Not enough calories, that's all. Makes me maudlin."

  Rebecca laughed. "How's the diet going?"

  "As long as I stay away from temptation, I'm okay."

  "In the form of one sexy chef?"

  Maria made a noncommittal sound.

  Rebecca pivoted back toward the store. "Listen, I shouldn't make you take his cookie order over there. You're trying to avoid him. I can handle the trip."

  "No." Maria gently turned Rebecca around toward the sidewalk. "You go home. Make a baby. I can handle seeing Dante."

  "Who knows," Rebecca said, smiling over her shoulder. "It might turn into a happy ending for you, too."

  "Hey, I thought you said this wasn't a matchmaking scheme."

  "No, it's not." She winked. "That's just another side effect."

  Maria shooed Rebecca on her way. "I'd rather have the morning sickness."

  As soon as Rebecca had rounded the corner, but before Maria and Candace could duck for cover, a long black stretch limo pulled up in front of the store. "Toodles!" Monica called, stepping from the car with Aphrodite in tow. "I stopped by to add a few finishing touches to the wedding desserts."

  "Any major changes?" Behind her back, Maria crossed her fingers.

  Monica laughed. "Of course not. What do you think I am? Flighty?"

  Neither Candace nor Maria said a word. They merely smiled.

  "I was thinking about adding some planes. Lester is just wild about anything that moves," Monica said, laughing. "Oh, and putting cabooses on the train cookies," she began, walking into the shop. Aphrodite tugged at her leash, in the opposite direction Monica was going. "Oh, puppy, do you need to make wee wee?" The dog barked. "I'll be right back. Aphrodite needs to powder her nose." Monica walked around the corner, praising her dog's manners the whole way.

  "Well at least she didn't need to powder it on our front stoop," Maria said.

  "Or worse, in our rest room." Candace unlocked the van and climbed inside.

  "Do you think she'd actually teach her dog to do that?"

  "Anything's possible with Monica." Candace shut the van door and rolled down the window. "Sorry for leaving you with her."

  "Sure you are. Have fun."

  Candace grinned. "I always do when I see Michael." She started the engine and pulled away.

  For a second, Maria wondered what it would be like to feel that way about a man—and have him feel the same in return. Never had she been loved like that. Never had she felt that secure about another person's feelings.

  A twinge of something ached inside her. She refused to call it jealousy. Hunger pains, that's what it was. Not envy for what Candace and Rebecca had.

  "We're all done with Number One," Monica said, coming back around the corner. "Now it's time for people business."

  They entered Gift Baskets and sat at a small round table in the front of the shop. Maria had pulled Monica's file from the cabinet behind the counter. "Okay," she said, settling into the seat across from Monica, "you want to add planes and cabooses?"

  Monica nodded. "In cookies, like the train engines are."

  Maria nodded, making a notation. "We can do that. There are still a couple weeks left."

  "I just want everything to be perfect." Monica sighed. "You only get married once, you know."

  "Well, some people do it many times."

  Monica shook her head. "I don't want to be one of those people. I want it to be right the first time."

  Maria wrote caboose on the order form. Her hand stilled. She twirled the pen between her fingers. "Monica, can I ask you something?"

  "Sure."

  "How did you know Lester was the right one?"

  Monica's smile softened everything about her face, as if the mere thought of her fiancé made her into a puddle of melted butter. "I didn't at first. It's hard for me. Every man I met always wanted me for Daddy's money. Like I was a bankbook and they only wanted to make withdrawals."

  The admission caught Maria by surprise. Monica Thurgood, one of the wealthiest heiresses in Boston, had gone through so
me of the same dating dilemmas as an average girl from the North End. "I'm not from wealth, but I know what it's like to be wanted for everything but yourself."

  Monica stroked Aphrodite's petite head. "Lester was very determined. He didn't quit on me. I quit on him once or twice, though."

  "You did?"

  Monica nodded. "Even told him I hated trains." She bit her lip. "Almost broke his little engineer's heart."

  "But how did you know he was the one?"

  Monica shooed Aphrodite off her lap and leaned forward on her elbows. "When I finally realized Lester didn't care one bit about Daddy's money. He likes simple things and never cared where we went, as long as he was with me. He's happy racing two H-O scales with me."

  "H-O scales?"

  Monica blushed under her flawless Estee Lauder. "It's a type of train. Lester has taught me a lot. About... well, everything." Her gaze went to some distant place of memories. "But really, I knew he was the conductor to my engine when I realized I was more me when I was with him. Less Thurgood and more Monica." She giggled. "If that makes sense."

  Maria nodded, the pangs in her gut ten times stronger now. "It does. Perfect sense."

  Maria's Twisted-Apologies Lover's Knots

  1-1/4 cups flour

  1/2 teaspoon baking powder

  Pinch of salt

  1/4 cup confectioners' sugar, divided, like your heart

  1 egg, beaten, just like your emotions

  1 tablespoon rum or brandy

  Vegetable oil, for deep frying of pastries and of your conscience

  Sift the flour, baking powder and salt, then stir in two tablespoons of the sugar. Incorporate egg with a fork, then add the rum until the dough draws together into one big lump, a lot like the one in your throat. Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface, working out your regrets and creating a good apology speech, until it's smooth. Separate dough into four pieces.

  Roll each piece into a rectangle, about five inches long and three inches wide. Cut these into 1/2-inch wide strips and tie into knots similar to the ones tearing up your stomach with guilt.

  Heat the oil in a fryer until it reaches 375 degrees. Fry the Lover's Knots for a couple of minutes, until crisp and golden. Drain on paper towels, then sprinkle with remaining sugar. Serve warm, to someone you want to reconcile with.