by J. J. Murray
“You can call me Papa anytime you want,” Mr. Biancardi said, rolling up his sleeves. “While you boil the linguine, I will make the sauce. I will need bacon, fresh spinach, minced garlic, milk, cream cheese, butter, salt, nutmeg, and pepper.”
Lauren blinked at him. “All that?”
“All that,” Mr. Biancardi said.
“I’ll tell you what we do have,” Lauren said. “We have bacon, milk, butter, garlic salt, regular salt, and pepper. We only have some provolone.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Biancardi said. “We will have to improvise, then.”
“I could go out and get what’s missing,” Patrick said. “If anything’s open.”
“No, no,” Mr. Biancardi said. “I must teach you to make the sauce.”
“Please teach him something,” Lauren said. “All he can cook are Pop-Tarts.”
Mr. Biancardi gripped both of Patrick’s shoulders. “We have a lot of work to do.”
Patrick nodded. We sure do. “I do make a great Philly steak and cheese, though.”
“Did you use rib-eye beef?” Mr. Biancardi asked.
“No,” Patrick said.
“He uses the frozen stuff,” Lauren said.
“Sacrilege!” Mr. Biancardi cried. “Oh, you have much to learn, much to learn, Patrizio. Don’t overcook that linguine, Lauren. I need it al dente. You must get a bigger kitchen soon, Patrizio, so we do not step on each other’s toes. Now, where is that bacon?”
Lauren pulled a pack from the refrigerator.
“Oh, it is too thin,” Mr. Biancardi said. “I will have to double it up. You come to Biancardi’s, and I will slice you the thickest, best-tasting bacon on earth. . . .”
Patrick backed out of the kitchen. He looked at the gifts strewn here and there around the couch and smiled at the Styrofoam peanuts on the tree. He adjusted several of the lamps to shine more light into the kitchen. He pulled out the cross and kissed it.
“Where’s my son?” Mr. Biancardi cried. “He should be in here learning.”
“Be there in a minute,” Patrick said. I’ll be there in a minute. Papa.
I need to soak all this in first.
It’s not every day that I get to see my wife—and my papa—preparing a feast for me.
62
The true story of Patrizio Alanzo Biancardi hit the front page of the Post the day after Christmas, and the rest of the media dutifully blew it completely out of proportion. Even The View couldn’t resist weighing in, with guest co-host Brooke Shields starting the conversation while Lauren and Patrick ate a rare soup and sandwich lunch at their apartment.
“Let’s talk about Lauren Short and Patrick Esposito,” Brooke said.
“You mean Patrizio Esposito and Lauren Esposito,” Whoopi Goldberg said. “She took his name, remember?”
“I think it’s sweet,” Sherri Shepherd said.
“Why?” Kathy Griffin asked. “He’s the son of a Mafia hit man. She’s related by marriage to a wiseguy.”
“Patrick’s father is not a wiseguy, Kathy,” Sherri said.
“He sure looks like one to me,” Kathy said. “Did you see his picture?”
Sherri sighed. “You can’t blame Patrick for what happened before he was born.”
“Maybe,” Kathy said, “but I still don’t see what’s so sweet about their relationship.”
“Lauren married for love,” Sherri said. “Not for money or fame or eye candy or publicity or power or appearances or any of the other stupid reasons celebrities get married these days. It has to be love. They always look so happy in photos.”
“Well, Patrick is quite a beast,” Brooke said, “and he never smiles.”
“Because he’s a Brooklyn guy, a real man, a handyman,” Whoopi said. “He’s got no time to smile.”
“Well,” Kathy said, “you know he’ll be faithful to Lauren. She’ll never have to worry about him straying.”
“You can’t say the same about Chazz,” Brooke said. “What’s he been through? Five or six new women since Lauren?”
“Chazz didn’t know or appreciate what he had,” Sherri said.
“That Patrizio has to have it going on,” Whoopi said. “Lauren hasn’t stopped smiling since she moved to Brooklyn. I can always tell where she is on a cloudy day. I see this beam of light all the way from Newark.”
“It won’t last,” Kathy said. “Love on the rebound never lasts.”
“Unless it’s with a basketball player,” Whoopi said. “Patrizio’s tall enough. I’ll bet he’s very good around the rim. . . .”
When the segment went to commercial, Patrick asked, “Am I good around the rim?”
“Oh, you’re very good around the rim,” Lauren said. “I like it when you dunk, too.”
“I like dunking you,” Patrick said.
“I like to be dunked,” Lauren said. She sighed. “I just wish this would all blow over. It was so quiet for a few weeks, and now this. I can’t stand to have people second-guess our marriage or our families. What business is it of theirs to critique what we have?”
“None,” Patrick said. “I wish they’d be kinder to Papa.”
“You called him Papa,” Lauren said.
“So I’m practicing,” Patrick said. “I know he can handle the scrutiny, but it’s so hard to read about it. They’re making him sound like a serial killer when all he did was take out one bad guy.”
Lauren pointed at the television. “At least The View didn’t go there. I could never be on that show. Talking about dirt all day doesn’t sound like fun.” She sighed. “But it’s how networks pay their bills because they know people will tune in to hear all the dirt.”
“Getting paid to gossip,” Patrick said. “What a racket.” He kissed Lauren’s neck.
“What are you doing, man?” Lauren asked.
“Trying to create a racket,” Patrick said.
“I want to play some basketball for some reason,” Lauren said.
“I may hang around your rim for a long time,” Patrick said.
“You won’t have to wait long,” Lauren said.
“And then we’ll have a dunking contest,” Patrick said. “Which I will win.”
“You better,” Lauren said. She reached for one of his coveralls straps. “I like it when you slam me.”
“You make it so easy to score,” Patrick said.
Lauren’s phone rang. She checked the caller ID. Todd. Why aren’t I surprised? She answered the call. “Hi, Todd. I’m putting you on speakerphone. Say hello to Patrick.”
“Hello, Patrick,” Todd said. “Or do you prefer Patrizio? Patrizio is getting better play on Twitter.”
“Whatever, Todd,” Lauren said. “What do you want?”
“Are you two sitting down?” Todd asked.
“We’re about to have a dunking contest, Todd,” Lauren said. “Talk fast.”
“I can call back,” Todd said.
“Go ahead,” Lauren said. “We need to do a little stretching first anyway.”
“You two have been nominated for a People’s Choice Award,” Todd said, “for Favorite Viral Video Star.”
“There is no such category,” Lauren said.
“There is,” Todd said. “They brought it back this year because there are so many good candidates. I think you two have a great shot at winning this year.”
“We have a couple videos out there,” Lauren said. “Which one?”
“Some fan of yours recently made a video of all your clips and called it ‘True Love,’ ” Todd said. “It chronicles your romance from your engagement in St. Louis to your wedding in Brooklyn. Al Green’s ‘Let’s Stay Together’ plays in the background, and it is very slick.”
“Our romance has made us popular, Patrick,” Lauren said. “Isn’t that great?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Patrick said.
“It is?” Lauren asked.
“I meant . . .” Patrick sighed. “Not our romance. We’re not ridiculous. The idea that we’d be nominated is ridiculous.”
Ten million! Wow! “That’s amazing,” Lauren said.
“I called you two today because the show is in LA in a few weeks,” Todd said. “I wanted to give you enough lead time since I know how you two like to travel on buses.”
“Very funny, Todd,” Lauren said, turning to Patrick. “Do you want to go?”
“Not really,” Patrick said. “But if you want to go, I’ll go. I know you miss it.”
“Miss what?” Lauren asked.
“The glitz and the glamour you gave up for me,” Patrick said.
“Are you kidding?” Lauren said. “I look fantastic in coveralls.”
“Yes, you do,” Patrick said. “But don’t you miss some aspects of that life?”
“No,” Lauren said. “I may even wear my purple long johns, my coveralls, and my new boots to the ceremony. It could be fun, but it will be even more fun if you go with me. I absolutely despise awards shows. I mean, you make one movie, and then you go to see if you won something at a half dozen different awards shows. It’s so much overkill.”
“Hello?” Todd said. “Have you forgotten you’re talking to me?”
“Actually, Todd, we have,” Lauren said.
“Please don’t wear coveralls, Lauren,” Todd said.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Lauren asked. “Has Chazz been nominated again for Favorite Action Movie Star?”
“Yes,” Todd said. “For the eighth year in a row.”
Now I really want to go. “Wouldn’t it be fun to be in the same room with Chazz, Patrick?”
Patrick nodded. “You know, I’d like to meet Chucky. I have a few things I’d like to say to him.”
“So do I,” Lauren said. “We will definitely be there. Thanks for calling, Todd.”
“There’s one more thing,” Todd said. “I’ve seen some of your clothing ads, and they look great. I don’t know what they’re paying you, but I know you two could make a lot more money than you’re currently making if you went national or even international. I’ve gotten phone calls from Banana Republic, Benetton, and even Speedo.”
“Speedo?” Lauren said.
“They think you two would look great in swimsuit ads,” Todd said.
“They can’t be serious,” Patrick said. “I would look ridiculous wearing a banana hammock.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Lauren said. Speedo’s sales would skyrocket!
“Six figures minimum, Lauren,” Todd said. “What are you making now?”
“We’re making nothing,” Lauren said.
“What?” Todd cried.
“We get to keep the clothes as payment,” Lauren said, “and they’re very cool clothes.”
“But you’re Lauren Short,” Todd said. “You could be making much more!”
“I am Lauren Esposito, a Boerum Hill, Brooklyn girl,” Lauren said, “and I prefer to work for clothes.”
“Lauren, think of the future,” Todd said. “You could use this awards show to restart your career, and a few national ad campaigns would blow you up bigger than you were before. I’ve even heard some whispers about you and Patrizio making some coin as an on-screen couple.”
“Really?” Lauren gasped. “Do you have anything concrete?”
“No, but I’m getting feelers,” Todd said. “Not as the leading couple, of course, but as the other couple.”
Figures. “Hey, Patrick. We’re becoming a semi-‘it’ couple without even trying.”
“What is the ‘other’ couple?” Patrick asked.
“The ‘other’ couple is the foil for the dysfunctional main couple,” Lauren said. “We put them back together after they fall apart. We could finally be an ordinary couple—in a movie. What do you think?”
“You already know what I think,” Patrick said. “Do you want to go back to acting?”
“Not really,” Lauren said. “I guess that’s a thanks, but no thanks, Todd. Bye.”
“But, Lauren,” Todd said, “you have a major opportunity here to—”
Lauren turned off her phone. “We’re going to LA.”
“So you can confront Chucky,” Patrick said.
“So we can confront Chucky,” Lauren said. “And I also want to see what you look like in a suit. You didn’t wear one for my wedding.”
“You just want to show off your boy toy,” Patrick said.
She moved over to him and sat in his lap. “No. I want to show off my husband, my one true love, my man. I want you at that show with me so you can put all those fake men to shame.”
“I’ll need a suit,” Patrick said. “And I have no idea where to go to get one.”
“Call Papa,” Lauren said. “Your daddy knows how to dress. He’ll know the best place to go.”
Patrick called Biancardi’s. “I need to speak to Patrizio, please.”
“Put him on speaker,” Lauren said. “I love the sound of his voice.”
Patrick turned on the speaker, and a moment later his father answered. “Patrizio? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Papa,” Patrick said. “I need to know where to get a good suit.”
“The best suit,” Lauren said.
“No, not the best suit,” Patrick said. “A good suit. One I can afford.”
“What is the occasion?” Mr. Biancardi asked.
“We’ve been nominated for a People’s Choice Award,” Lauren said, “and we’ll be going out to LA in a few weeks.”
“To walk the red carpet,” Mr. Biancardi said. “I see. In that case, you must go to Barneys on Madison Avenue in Manhattan. They will take care of both of you, I assure you.”
“Will it be expensive?” Patrick asked.
“A good suit should be expensive,” Mr. Biancardi said.
“How much are we talking?” Patrick asked.
“Oh, five thousand should do it,” Mr. Biancardi said.
“Do you need some money?”
“We’re okay,” Patrick said.
“I still know a few people there,” Mr. Biancardi said.
“Let me make a call.”
“It’s okay, Papa,” Patrick said. “We’ll manage.”
“One call,” Mr. Biancardi said, “and they will treat you like a king.”
“I don’t want to be a king, Papa,” Patrick said. “I just want a suit.”
“You will have both,” Mr. Biancardi said. “Ciao!”
Barney’s, a half-hour ride on the 4 train away, was more an art gallery than a clothing store, with nine floors of clothing from nearly every clothier Lauren had ever heard of.
This is heaven, Lauren thought. They have put heaven on Madison Avenue. I may never leave this store.
Precisely five seconds after they stepped inside the street-level doors, a sharply dressed man approached them.
“My name is Paul.” He shook Patrick’s hand. “You are here for a suit.” He nodded at Lauren. “And you are here for an evening gown for the People’s Choice Awards in Los Angeles.”
“Did my father call you?” Patrick asked.
“Yes,” Paul said. “The Biancardi family is one of our oldest customers, and your father wishes for you to get to the royal treatment today.”
“I only need a suit,” Patrick said.
“And you will get a suit,” Paul said. “Follow me.”
After getting measured by two tailors in a spacious dressing area, Patrick stood in only a T-shirt and boxers in front of Lauren.
“You know,” Lauren said, “if this wasn’t a formal affair, I’d let you wear that in LA.”
Paul returned with an Andrea Campagna wool, two-piece, navy chalk-striped suit. When Patrick put it on, it fit like a glove.
My husband will be the hottest man there, Lauren thought. Look at how that jacket fits his shoulders! My God, I have married a flawless man.
“Mrs. Esposito,” Paul said, “is this acceptable?”
Lauren nodded.
Paul took a long navy
Rake coat from a hanger. “It is supposed to be chilly in LA. This is cashmere.” He helped Patrick into the coat. “How does it feel, Mr. Esposito?”
“Expensive,” Patrick said.
“You look fantastic,” Lauren said. In another life, Patrick could easily have been a movie star, and I would have been the fan writing to him.
Patrick lifted his arm and looked at the tag. “I’m wearing a five-thousand-dollar coat, Lauren. And the suit cost five thousand, too.”
“We’ll take it,” Lauren said. “All of it.”
“It’s way too much,” Patrick said.
“You need a suit, Patrick,” Lauren said. “Agreed? Agreed.”
Paul turned to Lauren. “And now for you, Mrs. Esposito. We have something exclusive for you.”
On the third floor, a small army of designers circled Lauren until she was wearing a pleated silk tulle J. Mendel gown in dove gray. Sleeveless and V-necked, with a plunging V back, it left little to the imagination.
I will freeze if I wear only this, Lauren thought. It barely feels as if I’m wearing it.
A shoe specialist paired the dress with crystal-covered round-toe pumps with four-inch heels in meridian blue.
I have never been so tall, Lauren thought. Not that anyone will be able to see these exquisite pumps under this long gown. She looked at her transformation in a mirror. These shoes and this dress have taken ten pounds off my body.
“How do I look?” Lauren asked.
“Like Cinderella,” Patrick said.
“I feel like Cinderella,” Lauren said. “But, Paul, I’m going to be cold.”
Paul handed her a Denis Colomb cashmere shahtoosh shawl in Altai blue. “This will keep you warm.” He held out a piece of paper. “If you will sign this, we will have your garments delivered to your home the day before the show.”
Free delivery, too? Lauren signed the paper. “How would you like payment?”
“Everything has been taken care of,” Paul said.
“Really?” Lauren said. “Everything?”
Paul nodded.
“Really?”
Paul nodded again.
“Patrick’s papa paid,” Lauren said.
Paul smiled.
“That beautiful old man,” Lauren said.
Once she was back in her changing room, Lauren called Biancardi’s, and Patrick’s father answered. “Papa, you outdid yourself. The dress is gorgeous, and Patrick’s suit is amazing. Thank you so much.”
