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"Angie!" Mama wiped her cheek, leaving a red tomato trail behind. Sweat beaded her brow. "Are you ready to learn how to cook?"
"Ill hardly save the restaurant by cooking, Mama. Im making notes. "
Mamas smile fell a fraction. She shot a worried look at Mira, who merely shrugged. "Notes?"
"On things I think might improve the business. "
"And youre starting in my kitchen? Your Papa--God rest his soul--loved--"
"Relax, Mama. Im just checking things out. "
"Mrs. Martin says youve read every restaurant reference book in the library," Mira said.
"Remind me not to rent any X-rated movies in this town," Angie said, smiling.
Mama snorted. "People watch out for each other here, Angela. Thats a good thing. "
"Dont get started, Mama. I was joking. "
"I should hope so. " Mama pushed her heavy glasses higher on her nose and peered at Angie through owl-sized brown eyes. "If you want to help, learn to cook. "
"Papa couldnt cook. "
Mama blinked, sniffed, then went back to layering the ricotta-parsley mixture over noodles.
Mira and Angie exchanged a look.
This was going to be worse than Angie thought. She was going to have to tread with extreme care. An irritated Livvy was one thing. Mama pissed off was something else entirely. Barrow, Alaska, in the winter was warmer than Mama when she got mad.
Angie looked down at her notes, feeling both pairs of eyes on her. It took her a second to gather enough courage to ask: "So, how long has the menu been the same?"
Mira grinned knowingly. "Since the summer I went to Girl Scout camp. "
"Very funny," Mama snapped. "We perfected it. Our regulars love every item. "
"Im not saying otherwise. I just wondered when you last changed the menu. "
"Nineteen seventy-five. "
Angie underlined the word menu on her list. She might not know much about operating a restaurant, but she knew plenty about going out to dinner. A changing menu kept people coming back for more. "And do you offer nightly specials?"
"Everything is special. This isnt downtown Seattle, Angela. We do things our own way here. It was good enough for Papa. God rest his soul. " Mamas chin tilted in the air. The temperature in the kitchen dropped several degrees. "Now wed better get back to work. " She elbowed Mira, who went back to hand-forming the meatballs.
Angie knew when shed been dismissed. She turned and went back into the empty dining room. She saw Livvy over by the hostess desk again. Her sister was talking to Rosa, the woman whod started waitressing in the seventies. Angie waved and went upstairs.
It was quiet in her fathers office. She paused at the open doorway, letting the memories wash over her. In her mind, he was still there, sitting at the big oak desk hed bought at a Rotary Club auction, poring over the accounts.
Angelina! Come in. Ill show you about taxes.
But I want to go to the movies, Papa.
Of course you do. Run along then. Send Olivia up here.
She sighed heavily and went to his desk. She sat in his chair, heard the springs creak beneath her weight.
For the next several hours, she studied and learned and made notes. She re-read all of the old account books and then started on tax records and her fathers handwritten business notes. By the time she closed the last book, she knew that her mother was right. DeSarias was in trouble. Their income had dropped to almost nothing. She rubbed her eyes, then went downstairs.
It was seven oclock.
The middle of the dinner hour. There were two parties in the restaurant: Dr. and Mrs. Petrocelli and the Schmidt family.
"Is it always this slow?" she said to Livvy, who stood at the hostess table, studying her talon fingernails. The bright red polish was dotted with pink stars.
"Last Wednesday we had three customers all night. You may want to write that down. They all ordered lasagna, in case youre interested. "
"Like they had a choice. "
"And it begins. "
"Im not here to criticize you, Liv. Im just trying to help. "
"You want to help? Figure out how to get people through the door. Or how to pay Rosa Contadoris salary. " She glanced over at the elderly waitress who moved at a glacial pace, carrying one plate at a time.
"Itll take some changes," Angie said, trying to be as gentle as possible.
Livvy tapped a long scarlet fingernail against her tooth. "Like what?"
"Menu. Advertising. Decor. Pricing. Your payables are a mess. So is ordering. You guys are wasting a lot of food. "
"You have to cook for people, even if they dont show up. "
"Im just saying--"
"That were doing everything wrong. " She raised her voice so that Mama could hear.
"Whats that?" Mama said, coming out of the kitchen.
"Angies been here half a day, Mama. Long enough to know that we dont know shit. "
Mama looked down at them for a moment, then turned and headed for the corner by the window, where she started talking to the curtain.
Livvy rolled her eyes. "Oh, good. Shes getting Papas opinion. If a dead man disagrees with me, Im outta here. "
Finally, Mama returned. She didnt look happy. "Papa tells me you think the menu is bad. "
Angie frowned. That was what she thought, but she hadnt told anyone yet. "Not bad, Mama. But change might be a good thing. "
Mama bit down on her lower lip, crossed her arms. "I know," she said to the air beside her. Then she looked at Livvy. "Papa thinks we should listen to Angie. For now. "
"Of course he does. His princess. " She glared at Angie. "I dont need this crap. I have a new husband who has begged me to stay home at night and make babies. "
The arrow hit its mark. Angie actually flinched.
"So thats what Im going to do. " Livvy patted Angies back. "Good luck with the place, little sis. Its all yours. You work nights and weekends. " She turned on her high heel and walked out.
Angie stared after her, wondering how it had gone bad so quickly. "All I said was we needed to make a few changes. "
"But not to the menu," Mama said, crossing her arms. "People love my lasagna. "
LAUREN STARED DOWN AT THE QUESTION IN FRONT OF her.
A man walks six miles at four miles per hour. At what speed would he need to travel during the next two and a half hours to have an average speed of six miles an hour during the entire trip?
The answer choices blurred in front of her tired eyes.
She pushed back from the table. She couldnt do this anymore. SAT preparation had filled so much of her time in the last month that shed started to get headaches. It wouldnt do her any good if she aced the test but fell asleep in all her classes.
The test is in two weeks.
With a sigh, she pulled back up to the table and picked up her pencil. Shed already taken this test last year and gotten a good score. This time, she was hoping for a perfect 1600. For a girl like her, every point mattered.
By the time the oven beeper went off an hour later, shed completed another five pages of the practice test. Numbers and vocabulary words and geometry equations floated through her head like those giant Star Wars spaceships, bumping into one another.
She went into the kitchen to make dinner before work. She could choose between a bowl of Raisin Bran and an apple with peanut butter. She picked the apple. When she finished eating, she dressed in a nice pair of black pants and a heavy pink sweater. Her Rite Aid smock covered most of the sweater anyway. She grabbed her backpack--just in case she found time to finish her trigonometry homework on her dinner break--and left the apartment.
She hurried down the stairs and was just reaching for the front door knob when a voice said, "Lauren?"
Dang it. She paused, turned.
Mrs. Mauk stood in the open doorway to her apartment. A tired frown pulled the edges of her mouth downward. The wrinkles on her forehead looked painted on. "Im still wait
ing for that rent check. "
"I know. " She had trouble keeping her voice even.
Mrs. Mauk moved toward her. "Im sorry, Lauren. You know I am, but I need to get paid. Otherwise, its my job on the line. "
Lauren felt herself deflate. Now shed have to ask her boss for an advance. She hated doing that. "I know. Ill tell Mom. "
"You do that. "
She headed for the door, heard Mrs. Mauk say, "Youre a good kid, Lauren"; it was the same thing the manager said every time she had to ask for money. There was no answer to that, so Lauren kept walking, out into a rainy, navy blue night.
It took two bus changes to get her out toward the highway, where the neon bright Rite Aid pharmacy offered all night hours. She hurried into the store, even though she wasnt late. Even a few extra minutes on her time card helped.
"Uh, Lauren?" It was Sally Ponochek, the pharmacist. As always, she was squinting. "Mr. Landers wants to see you. "
"Okay. Thanks. " She went back to the employees lunchroom and dropped off her stuff, then went upstairs to the managers small, supply-cramped office. All the way there she practiced how she would ask it: Ive worked here for almost a year. I work every holiday-- you know that. Ill work Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve this year. Is there any way I could get an advance on this weeks salary?
She forced herself to smile at him. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Landers?"
He looked up from the papers on his desk. "Oh. Lauren. Yes. " He ran a hand through his thinning hair, recombed what was left of it across his head. "Theres no easy way to say this. We need to let you go. Youve seen how slow business is. Word is corporate is thinking of shutting this location down. The locals simply wont patronize a chain store. Im sorry. "
It took a second. "Youre firing me?"
"Technically were laying you off. If business picks up . . . " He let the inchoate promise dangle. They both knew business wouldnt pick up. He handed her a letter. "Its a glowing recommendation. Im sorry to lose you, Lauren. "
THE HOUSE WAS TOO QUIET.
Angie stood by the fireplace, staring out at the moonlit ocean. Heat radiated up her legs but somehow didnt reach her core. She crossed her arms, still cold.
It was only eight-thirty; too early for bed.
She turned away from the window and looked longingly at the stairs. If only she could turn back time a few years, become again the woman who slept easily.
It had been easier with Conlans arms around her. She hadnt slept alone in so long shed forgotten how big a mattress could be, how much heat a lovers body generated.
There was no way shed sleep tonight, not the way she felt right now.
What she needed was noise. The approximation of a life.
She bent down and grabbed her keys off the coffee table, then headed for the door.
Fifteen minutes later, she was parked in Miras driveway. The small two-story house sat tucked on a tiny lot, hemmed on both sides by houses of remarkable similarity. The front yard was littered with toys and bikes and skateboards.
Angie sat there a minute, clutching the steering wheel. She couldnt bust in on Miras family at nine oclock. It would be too rude.
But if she left now, where would she go? Back to the silence of her lonely cottage, to the shadowland of memories that were best left alone?
The Things We Do for Love Page 7
