by Gina LaManna
“You got an invite?” Meg asked with a frown. “Mine musta gotten lost. Why’d you get an invite?”
“I work for the Luzzi Family,” Dr. Gambino said, with a disbelieving stare. “That’s why.”
“How’d you get this job, anyway?” Meg asked. “I love the Luzzis and all, but Carlos...he’s not exactly....Well, you know.”
“Friendly toward my type?” Dr. Gambino smiled. “Well, that’s true. I won’t lie; he needed a bit of convincing.”
“There’s only one person on earth who can convince him,” I said, having wondered the same thing since the day I’d met the doctor. I, however, didn’t voice everything on my mind, unlike Meg. “Nora?”
Dr. Gambino grinned. “Of course it’s because of Nora. Your grandmother did her research, and really, it’s a simple solution. I’m the best.” He spread his arms wide, his mouth stretched from one cheek to another. “You can’t argue with the best. Nora is adamant Carlos receives the absolute top notch medical treatment available to mankind. One thing led to another, and after a while Carlos learned to deal with our differences. In fact, I like to think we’re almost friends.”
Meg barked laughter. “That’s funny. I didn’t think Carlos could be friends with a rock.”
I disagreed, mostly because I believed that Carlos would adore being friends with a rock – it wouldn’t talk back, make a fuss, or complain.
“How did he enjoy yoga, by the way?” Dr. Gambino asked with a smirk.
“You prescribed it?” I asked. “You almost gave him an aneurism.”
“Ira Bliss, the instructor, is part of my wheatgrass club. He ran the class as a favor to me,” Dr. Gambino said. “I wish I’d been there to see it.”
“You put all of us through hours of misery,” I said. “Carlos had steam coming out of his head for a week.”
“That’ll teach him to comment on my hairstyle again,” the doctor said with a huff. “My hair is distinguished, not flamboyant.”
Meg eyed his hair. “I dunno...”
The doctor glared at her.
Meg raised her hands in submission. “Hey, I liked yoga. Don’t lash out at me, I’m just being honest. It ain’t in my nature to lie.”
Dr. Gambino approached me with a needle. “This will sting.”
“No!” I cried out. “No shots, please.”
“‘Cept at my bar,” Meg said. “Shotz. That’s the name.”
I closed my eyes as the needle pinched my skin. “Oww! Cripes.”
“Just think of Anthony’s butt,” Meg said.
“Anthony...Anthony?” Dr. Gambino turned to Meg, the needle still in my arm.
“Uh, excuse me?” I gestured toward the waving tip. “This hurts.”
“Anthony,” Meg confirmed.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Dr. Gambino said. “I wish I could examine him.”
“Ouch!” I hissed, yanking the needle out myself. “You can’t forget about me in the middle of a shot!” Meg and Dr. Gambino shared the intense look of two people who have just discovered that they have something in common.
“It’s impossible to fight the charm,” Meg said. “I forget everything when Anthony’s around.”
“His gluteus maximus...” Dr. Gambino said longingly.
“Did you know he wants to date Lacey?” Meg asked, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper.
“Lucky gal,” the doctor said. “Lacey, let me get your weight and then you’re good to go. I’ll give you a few extra of these...what with your new romance.” Dr. Gambino tossed several foil-wrapped condoms across the room, scattering them across the examination table.
I scrunched my nose.
Meg however, leaned over and scooped them all up. “I can find a use for these.”
AFTER A QUICK STOP by the dreaded scale, it was determined that I was, in fact, not morbidly obese. With instructions to exercise more, eat less sugar, and consume only three alcoholic drinks per day, Meg and I were turned loose.
“So,” she said, “You wanna go grab some donuts and a drink?”
“I deserve them,” I said darkly. “But I can’t. Carlos has something for me.”
“I’m guessing it’s not a present?” Meg asked.
I shook my head. “He called this morning with a new assignment.”
“The day before your birthday, and two days before the fourth of July? That’s just mean.” She crossed her arms. “Want me to have a word with him?”
I sighed, and shook my head. “I’m in no position to say no to any extra money. Plus, I don’t think he even knows it’s my birthday. I always just told the family that I was out of town for the Fourth of July. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have plans for the weekend and I could use the distraction. Before you start, it’s too late in the game to plan a party, so just let it go.”
“Well, then. I’ll just have to let him know about your special day.”
“No, you won’t,” I said in a warning tone. “I need this gig – the money, at least.”
“True. I can’t keep giving you rides everywhere. I can’t afford the gas money,” Meg said.
“I gave you fifty dollars just last night for a three-mile ride home from your bar.” I gave her a raised eyebrow.
Meg shrugged. “Back pay.”
“How about I buy you three donuts and a coffee this afternoon?” I bartered.
“You just want donuts and coffee, and you don’t wanna give me extra gas money for going out of the way.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I hedged. “You’re too smart sometimes.”
“That’s why they fired me from being a cop,” Meg said.
“Really.” I didn’t quite believe it. The rumors went more along the lines of abuse of power, or something like that. Whatever the technical term was for “she punched a suspected criminal in the face for calling her fat.” And Meg wasn’t fat. She was husky. Big-boned. Lots o’ woman (her words, not mine). But not fat.
“Well, if you don’t want me to say anything to Carlos, then I’m gonna get to the bar,” Meg said.
“I’ll call you later. And no party!” I called after her.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “You won’t remember the party, anyway. The hardest part is showing up, Lacey!”
Shaking my head at her twisted use of motivational quotes, I turned down the hallway towards the Grand Entryway. I made my way down through the mansion and caught a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror. With average brown hair, eyes that pass for brown, green, or hazel depending on their mood, and a butt that fits (most days) into medium-sized, plain cotton underwear without giving me a wedgie, I was okay looking. At least I didn’t consider myself to be a terrible catch when it came to the whole dating thing, despite my grandmother’s disappointment in my lack of a wedding ring.
In my defense, things like my life, dating, and relationships in general were a teensy bit more difficult to pull off due to my relations with the mob. Long lost granddaughter to the Don of the St. Paul Italian Mafia, I’d accepted a job with the Family a few years back.
My other options had consisted of stripping at TANGO or trying out to professionally compete in spelling bee competitions. Since the latter didn’t pay well and the former gave me a concussion, I didn’t feel I’d had much of a choice. Plus, it wasn’t a lie when I said I needed money. My car had so many warning lights blinking on its dashboard that it could rival a Fourth of July fireworks display.
Speaking of fireworks, the Fourth of July was rapidly approaching. As I’d told both the doctor and Meg, I’d spent the holiday and my birthday away from the family for the past few years – ever since I found them. I’d always been dating Blake, and he’d been taking me up to his cabin. Things were different this year.
I pushed away thoughts of my recent breakup and focused on winding my way through Carlos’s fortress – a building with enough protection to defend itself in the event of World War III, located in the charming suburban outskirts of St. Paul. Maybe, just maybe, an assignment would help take my mind o
ff of the loneliness I was sure to feel during the upcoming holiday. Straightening my shoulders and heading into the kitchen, I told myself that it was a good thing my grandfather hadn’t remembered my birthday. It was a good thing he was going to work me to my bones on my special day. It was – oh, what was the use?
I wasn’t looking forward to working on my birthday.
I turned the corner and was pulled from my thoughts by the grinning face of the tall, handsome butler named Harold.
“Lacey, dear. Hello,” he said in an exquisite English accent.
I gave him a warm smile; I couldn’t help it, even in my self-pitying mood. Harold made everyone happier as a general rule. He carried peppermints for the kids, doled out jokes for the adults, and most importantly, pretended that the Luzzis were a normal, functional family unit.
I reached out and gave him a hug. “Hey, Harold. It’s great to see you.”
“And you, Lacey. Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Am I ever here for pleasure?” I asked.
“Oh, Lacey,” Harold chuckled. “I’ve missed your humor.”
“I can see why, what with these guys marching around.” I thumbed over my shoulder at one of the guards passing us by. The uniformed man had a stern look on his face, and I knew that if I said hello, he would ignore me. “Why they gotta be so serious?”
“You know Carlos,” Harold said with a sigh. “Runs a tight ship.”
I frowned. “Is Carlos being nice to you?”
“Yes, yes of course. I just wonder if his stormy mood lately has anything to do with your meeting today.”
“Oh, great,” I groaned. “Just what I like to hear.”
“Good luck, dear.” Harold gave a much tighter smile than before. “Will you be coming to the barbecue this year?”
I shrugged. “We’ll see.”
I waved goodbye to Harold as we parted ways, he heading towards the front door, I waltzing straight towards the lion’s den. I glanced up, noticing for the hundredth time that this particular lion had outfitted his lair with the best stained glass windows that Rome had to offer. I made my way through the Grand Entryway, past a large, marble staircase dressed in deep, regal carpeting. I walked at a quick clip past the statues that may or may not have once lived in the Vatican, and followed a narrow, cozier hallway towards the kitchen.
Whereas the Grand Entryway was sterile and fancy, this hallway was much more personal. Nora had taken over the decoration helm and tacked up a variety of “Wanted” style posters – all containing bright, smiling Luzzi faces. Interspersed between soccer trophies and baseball medals hung an alarming array of arrest warrants. The lesser “accomplished” Luzzis were represented with a few parking tickets, one or two disorderly conduct citations, and even a snow emergency warning.
The final frame on the wall held my most important life accomplishment – the eighth grade spelling bee certificate that declared me a champion. I had some catching up to do on Nora’s Hallway of Fame, or rather her Hallway of Infamy. Maybe I could have Meg steal an unused arrest warrant and photoshop my face onto it. I was too much of a chicken to actually get arrested. Except for that one time when I’d met Blake...
A heavy, mahogany door marked the end of the corridor. I pressed my fingers firmly against the outside, and it swung easily open, displaying the sturdy version of a picnic table we used for informal meals. At one end of the table sat Carlos with a glass of limoncello before him. A dangerous plate of cookies lay directly in the center of the table. The plate sat next to an iPad, its screen glowing from recent use.
I sensed an air of discontent hanging about the room even as I stepped through the door. The iPad had caused some arguments historically, and I wondered if this wasn’t one of those times.
“Oh, hello, Lacey dear,” Nora said, bustling over from her post at the kitchen stove. My grandmother did more wine-sipping than cooking in the kitchen, and it definitely showed in her often inedible meals. But she’d be darned if one of the mansion’s many staff members served her husband. “So happy to see you, darling! I’m just preparing a snack.”
I uneasily eyed the cookies as Nora whisked me into a cushy hug. Her apron smelled of olive oil and basil, not an unpleasant scent, which had me wondering if she’d been taking cooking classes.
“The cookies look great,” I lied.
Carlos glanced at the biscotti, before he slowly met my eyes and gave the smallest shake of his head. A thrill shot through my veins, starting with my toes and ending at the tips of my fingers. This may have been the greatest moment to date in my relationship with Carlos; he and I were bonding over my grandmother’s hard-as-cement cookies. He was on my team.
My grandfather, head of the Italian Mob in St. Paul, was a small guy with skinny legs and a thick torso. His hair was graying in a ridiculously classy way, and his suit was pressed just so. He wore only the finest imported materials, and he had a shoe collection that Dolce and Gabbana would envy. The man was pure intimidation and power, and his head shake in my direction had been a major bonding moment in both our personal and professional relationships – I was sure of it.
So sure, in fact, that I walked towards him confidently. In addition to the traditional cheek kisses, I leaned in and gave him a nice, juicy hug.
“What are you doing?” Carlos’s voice could only be described as a growl. “Get off.”
“Sorry. Sorry, sir. Er – grandfath – Carlos, man,” I stuttered, backing away. Feeling incredibly awkward, I reached for the cookies to give my hands something to do. Huge mistake.
“Carlos, a hug from your granddaughter is not a sign of weakness,” Nora chided. “You know, asking for help sometimes is a good thing.”
I looked back and forth between them, not sure what I’d walked in on. I sensed a leftover argument hanging in the air that hadn’t quite run its course.
Nora turned to me, dropping her icy tone for a warmer one. “Lacey, you must try those cookies. It’s a new recipe.”
“Oh, wonderful.” I gave a fake smile and sat down at the table, my eye scanning the room for the moment Nora turned her back. When I saw my chance, I quickly slid the cookie from my hand back onto the plate. “So, what’s up?”
“It’s Carlos with the iPad, again,” Nora said, a sigh lining her words. “I ask him for one tiny piece of advice, and what does he say?”
“I said the fireworks are illegal, Nora,” Carlos grumbled. “You can’t buy illegal fireworks on The Google.”
“You can do everything on The Google,” Nora said. “Even Marissa and Clarissa say so, and they’re young. They’re tuned into the hip things.”
“Hey, you know what? I know a little bit about Googling,” I said. “I can help.”
Carlos and Nora stared at me.
“What do you know about, dear?” Nora asked.
“Googling. It’s like...the verb of Google.”
More blank stares.
“She’s not as young as the girls,” Nora said, dropping her voice low and speaking to Carlos.
“I can hear you,” I whispered loudly. “And I know how to use The Google. What do you need help with?”
Nora cracked a huge, hearty smile. “I’m trying to buy some real butt-kickin’ fireworks.”
I swallowed. “The ones that take off from the ground and explode in the sky?”
“Well, what other kind?” Nora asked. “Of course. The rainbow ones, the twirly whirlies. I really like me some chandelier spiralies.”
“Those are illegal,” I said.
“So?” Nora looked around. “That hasn’t stopped anyone in this house from doing anything for the last fifty years.”
I looked helplessly at my grandfather. She had a point.
“Nora, we can’t have anything traced back to us. If you buy illegal fireworks from Mexico with your credit card on The Google, they can trace it back to us,” Carlos said.
“No way, José,” Nora said. “The Google is a safe place. I read it on one of them buttons before you put
in your credit card information. You know, I’ve met some really nice people over the Internet. There was the Prince of India, and I tell you, his daughter was plumb kidnapped. And you know what? We were such good friends, he came to me for help.”
My jaw fell open. “Nora, you didn’t...”
“Of course I did! What was I supposed to do, let the girl die? And he never even emailed me back a thank you for sending him the money he asked for. I mean, jeez louise. Seven thousand dollars used to at least get you a thank you note. I was looking forward to a postcard from India. One with an elephant on it, maybe.” She shook her head. “People these days.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell Nora that the chances she’d rescued young Indian royalty were slimmer than zero. It was probably closer to negative two percent. But she wouldn’t miss seven grand, so instead of bursting her happiness bubble, I instead made a mental note to discuss this con man with Clay, my favorite cousin and computer whiz. He’d not only be able to get Nora’s money back, but he’d get it back with significant interest, as well as pain and suffering costs. Costs that were determined by him, of course, and not a court of law.
“Wow, that’s just great,” I said. “So thoughtful. You’re a life saver.”
“Absolutely,” Nora said. “I just love The Google. Brings so much goodness into the world. Anyway, I want some fireworks, and Carlos won’t help me get them. Can you help a sister out?”
I paused, wondering if that was another piece of slang she’d learned from my two young cousins. “Carlos does have a point. The Internet isn’t always the safest place to put your credit card.”
Nora frowned. “My credit card is already on the Internet. Everybody asks for it. I thought The Google needed my credit card to run.”
Carlos’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, and I made another mental note for Clay, except this time, it was to have him set up security on Nora’s computer – to protect her from herself.
“I’ll ask Clay,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure that if you buy a bunch of illegal fireworks, there’s a chance someone will be able to trace it to your computer.”
