His Uptown Girl (11 page)

George released his mother's hands, but the two woman remained facing each other, neither of them acknowledging Bob. He might as well have been invisible. “I like to think so,” she said.

“He and Bartholomew started that business many years ago. My son, he works too many long hours. This must stop or he will drive himself to an early grave. It is good to see they have hired you.”

Bob cleared his throat, wondering when he'd lost control. “Mama, there's something else. In addition to being my new mechanic, George is also my new tenant.”

His mother's eyebrows knotted, and she planted her fists on her hips. “Tenant?”

“Yes. She moved into the garage apartment.”

“For how long has this been going on?”

“George moved in yesterday.”

Her eyes narrowed even more, and Bob nearly shivered with the ice in her glare, making him wish he were invisible. “How could you do a thing like that? It is so small. There is no room for clothes. And the kitchen! There is no kitchen! Jason could live on Antonio's pizza, but a woman needs a place to cook!”

“But…” Bob let his voice trail off. He'd thought all the same things, and he didn't have an answer. For George, the price was right, so that was all that mattered.

“Really, it's fine,” George interjected. “In fact, I've never lived on my own before, so it's perfect. A small apartment is easier to keep clean.”

“It is too small. Where are you going to put all your things?”

“I don't have very much. I actually have to go shopping tomorrow so I don't have to borrow so much from Bob. The garage apartment is just perfect for me.”

“Well, if you are happy, then it is good to have someone new living there.” She turned back to Bob “It has been a waste to have the apartment empty. Jason moved back home nearly a year ago. After all that work, and so much money you spent to fix it.”

“I've been using it for storage. And you just said it was too small a few minutes ago.
“Mama! Mi fa la testa cosi!”

She waved one hand in the air to dismiss his frustration. “Come, George. Come meet our family. Especially now that you are my son's tenant.” She rested her hand on George's forearm and guided her back into the living room.

“Mama, I've already introduced them,” Bob muttered, following behind.

His mother ignored him, and continued walking. When they arrived in the living room, he saw that his other sisters had shown up while he was in the kitchen. She stopped in front of the couch where Gene and Tony were sitting, and guided George to stand beside her. Bob shuffled to stand on George's other side while the introductions were repeated.

“George, this is my oldest son, Eugenio.”

Bob leaned down to the height of George's ear, knowing his brothers could see what he was doing, but his mother could not. “Pst. He prefers ‘Gene,'” Bob whispered, then straightened.

“And his wife, Michelle. Over here, this is Antonio.”

Bob leaned to her ear again. “Pst. Tony.”

“And his wife, Kathy. Here is one of my daughters, Rosabella.”

“Rose.”

“This is Maria.”

“We couldn't shorten that one.”

“This is my youngest child, Giovannetta.”

“Gina,” Bob whispered.

His mother leaned forward around George and glared up at Bob, obviously fully aware of what he'd been doing. “And of course you know my third son, Roberto,” she said, rolling the
R
s, which she always did when she wanted to make a point or remind him of his heritage.

Bob stepped forward, grinned, pointedly cleared his throat and pounded his fist into his chest. “Me, Bob,” he said, deepening his voice.

His mother picked up a section of the newspaper from the coffee table, and whacked him lightly on the head. “Respect your Mama. Your birth certificate, it says
Roberto.
”

George grinned.

“Don't you dare take her side,” Bob grumbled.

“Enough of this. It is time to eat.”

Everyone filed into the kitchen and sat at the table while his mother and Rose set the food on the table. The room went silent while Gene said a short prayer over the food. At his closing
Amen,
everything erupted into the usual Delanio family get-together. At least three conversations were going on at the same time, with everyone involved in more than one. Rose and Tony started arguing about something Bob knew nothing about, and even Michelle started waving her arms in the air as she spoke to Gina about future party details.

Through it all, George was silent. She listened politely and responded when someone spoke to her, but she
added nothing to the myriad conversations around her unless addressed directly. With friendly bickering, they agreed on enough details to begin planning the party.

After an hour, the timer on the oven began dinging.

“You must all go, except for Eugenio and Michelle. Your father will be returning soon with little Eddie after their fishing trip. He must not become suspicious. But we have a little time yet, George, would you like to come with me? I would like you to see some things.”

“Of course, Mrs. Delanio.”

Bob stood to accompany them, but his mother waved one hand in the air, halting him in his tracks. “Roberto, I need you to go to the garage and bring me four boxes. Hurry. Big boxes. Like this.” She motioned the size with her hands, and he knew he was dismissed.

Bob sighed and went to the garage. His father regularly flattened boxes,
every
box they'd ever received, and stored them in the garage. For more years than he could remember, the entire neighborhood came to his mother when someone needed a box, and she always had just the right one, which of course, only made her worse.

By the time he returned, fifteen minutes later, he found a pile of miscellaneous household items piled at the back door.

“What's going on?”

“These things are for George. They are extra. I do not need them. Hurry and pack them into the boxes and carry them to your car before your father gets home.”

“If this isn't going to be okay with Papa, then I think we should wait.”

“Your papa will not even notice.”

He scanned the pile. “This is a lot of stuff.” But the more he thought about it, he thought that probably his
father would be pleased to see it gone if he knew, as it lessened the volume of “valuable” things his mother stored in the basement.

“Hurry! Pack these things and go. Eugenio and Michelle are cleaning the mess in the kitchen, and I must help.”

Before he could say anything more, his mother was gone. “I give up,” he muttered.

Beside him, George giggled as she hurriedly began ramming things into the boxes. “I like your mother. I hope she manages to pull this birthday party off without your father finding out.”

“If she doesn't, he'll still pretend to be surprised. He'd never do anything to hurt her feelings.”

Bob picked up an old toaster he remembered using as a child. “I remember when this broke. Papa fixed it, but Mama had already bought a new one and used it, so she couldn't take it back. It's just like her to keep it all these years, just in case.”

“Yes. She told me about that toaster. I'm just so stunned that she's given me all these things.” She held up a towel. “Look at this! It's so soft! I can't believe she wasn't using it. She said she didn't like the color.”

“Mama may seem pushy at times, but she has a good heart.”

“Yes. She seems very sweet, and I love listening to her accent. Does your father have an accent, too? You don't.”

“My parents immigrated right after they were married. In order to preserve the language, we always spoke Italian at home, and English when we were in school or out with others. We stopped speaking Italian as frequently when Gene married Michelle, because we didn't want to be rude when she couldn't understand us.”

“So you speak Italian fluently?”

“Yes, but I don't use it as much as I used to.”

“You said something in Italian when we were in the kitchen. What did you say?”

Bob blushed. “
Mi fa la testa cosi.
It's just an expression of frustration.”

“But what does it mean? It sounded so regal.”

“It's not. It means ‘you're going to make my head explode.' Mama sometimes does that to me.”

George started to laugh. The heat in Bob's face extended to his neck.

“That's so funny! What a way to put it.”

“It's just an expression. You can't translate these things literally. Now come on, we have to hurry if you want to unpack and still have time to eat supper before we have to leave for the evening service.”

G
eorgette smiled broadly as she closed the cupboard door. All of the cooking utensils and supplementary things Bob's mother had given her were put away properly, including a few miscellaneous kitchen items whose purpose was still murky. The one thing she definitely knew how to use—a coffeemaker with a mismatched pot, was washed and sitting on the counter, ready for its first use—when she could finally buy some coffee.

Bob's mother had been so thorough that Georgette's remaining list of things to buy was now short and affordable. Exactly as promised, first thing that morning at work, Bob had given her an advance on her paycheck, which would be enough to buy the critical items on the list and enough groceries to last her until payday. She could still drive to work too, if that was the only place she went.

She even had a phone to use. Bob had given her one of the phones from his house, and pointed out a phone jack in the wall that was connected to his own line at his house. Not that anyone she knew would call her. Lis
tening to Bob's private phone ringing felt odd to her, but he had wanted her to have a phone available in case of an emergency.

A knock sounded. Georgette grabbed her purse with a light heart. The only other time she'd felt so free was the day she got her job.

She opened the door and stepped outside. “I really appreciate you taking me shopping. I never really thought of how long your days are. You start before I do in the morning, then you close up more than an hour and a half after I'm gone. I see what your mother said about you working too much.”

He sighed. “My mother means well, but sometimes she gets carried away.”

Georgette tried to stop the wistful feeling that sneaked up on her. “Your mother seems like a wonderful person, and I'm sure she's only doing it because she loves you. I miss that.”

Bob stopped walking. “I'm sorry, George, I didn't think. Don't get me wrong, I love Mama, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her. But when she has a point to make, nothing stops her from making it. I know I work too much. In fact, today Bart and I decided to cut back our hours. We're finally at a point where we're able to keep everything current. Starting tomorrow, I'll go home at the same time as you. Bart will arrive later, the same time as you, and he'll stay to close up at six. We even talked about each taking a day off midweek in addition to Sunday, because we both need to be here Saturdays; it's our busiest day. It hasn't been easy for us, but I think we can finally cut back to both of us working five days instead of six, and the business won't suffer.”

Georgette smiled. In her own way, Bob's mother had
made her point and got what she wanted, which was the best for her children. One day, Georgette wanted to be that kind of mother, only she hoped she could make her point a little more delicately.

She looked up at Bob, whose face had softened while he thought of his mother. Before Georgette thought of being a mother, according to God's direction, a husband came first. She wondered what it would be like to be married to Bob. He was a considerate and generous man, a good son, and he would make a good father as well as a good husband. He respected his mother, regardless of her quirks.

Georgette shook her head. As much as she liked him, she could never forget that he was her boss—as he often reminded her.

Georgette forced her thoughts back to that working relationship. “What day do you think you'll take off?”

“Neither of us can take Monday because it's always really busy. Bart wants to be off Tuesday, so I'll take Thursday off. That way the shop won't be one person short two days in a row.” He smiled and stared off into space. “It's been so long since I've taken more than one day off in a week. I've never even had a vacation in all the time we've been running the business.”

Georgette couldn't imagine that. As busy as her father was, he always traveled twice a year, once in peak summer vacation season, and someplace exotic in February. “That sounds great. What do you think you're going to do?”

“I don't know. First I might catch up on a little sleep.” He turned and grinned at her. “I certainly don't sleep in on Sunday morning. If I take Thursday off, I'll finally have some time to practice drums on my own during the
daytime, when my neighbors aren't home. I think I might spend a little money and buy a spare drum set to keep at home. You have no idea how much work it is to lug a drum set back and forth every week between home, the church and Adrian's house. I don't want to move them any more than I have to.”

“Or maybe you can buy one of those small electronic sets, with headphones to practice at home.”

His grin widened. “Yeah. That's a great idea.”

She wondered if one day, Bob's neighbors would thank her. The smile didn't leave Bob's face as he drove them to the big supermarket.

Once inside, she tried not to gape at the scope of the building. She stared up to the open ceiling and its metal rafters in which birds could nest without anyone being the wiser.

“George? What are you looking at? We should get moving. It's getting late.”

She caught up with Bob, who was pushing one buggy for the two of them, since he only needed a couple of small items.

“How do you find what you need in a place like this?” The place had dozens of aisles that seemed to go on for miles.

One eyebrow quirked. “You learn the layout. I know where everything is, at least the things I buy. I guess this is bigger than what you're used to.”

“You've got that right. We had groceries delivered.”

Their first stop was the bakery aisle. She put a couple of loaves of bread in the buggy, along with a package of muffins that looked good, before she remembered that she had to make every purchase count.

She put the muffins back.

The next stop was the meat counter.

She stood, staring at the packages of…raw meat. Her stomach churned when she looked at a huge ugly mass labeled Beef Tongue.

“Not over there, George. Over here they sell single portions. It's a little more expensive per pound, but this way you don't waste anything and you don't have enough fridge space for more. Those pork chops look good.” He picked up a package, and handed it to her. “What do you think?”

Georgette took in a few deep breaths to help force the picture of the mutilated cow parts out of her head, then turned the package over. “There aren't any directions.”

“You don't need directions. It's just a plain pork chop. You fry it.”

“Is that hard?”

Bob's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I don't think you understand. I've never done this before.”

“You've never cooked a pork chop?”

“Not only have I never cooked a pork chop, I've never cooked anything. I've certainly never bought raw food.”

Bob shook his head. “I don't understand. I've seen you bring some wonderful homemade things for lunch. Stroganoff. Chowders.” His eyes brightened, and he smiled. “Lasagna. You even brought an extra piece for me. It was delicious.”

“Josephine made all those things for me. She took care of all the meals and groceries. Besides, my father would never let me do anything so mundane as food shopping.”

She held out the pork chop for him to put back. “I wouldn't be able to use this.”

“Then what do you know how to cook?”

“I know how to make macaroni and cheese in the microwave.”

Bob shook his head. “There's no room for a microwave in that apartment. You'd have to make your macaroni in a pot.”

“You can make macaroni in a pot?”

Bob lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He mumbled something in Italian that she wasn't sure she wanted translated.

“I told you. If it's not something I've gotten at our deli or from Josephine, I don't know how to do it.”

“You can make a sandwich, I hope? You know. Two pieces of bread, condiments, meat and maybe some lettuce and cheese?”

She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. All she knew was that people were starting to stare.

“Can we go someplace else to talk about this?”

He waved one hand in the air, the hand that held the packaged pork chop. “There is no place else to talk! This is the supermarket! Where people go to buy food! Which is what we're supposed to be doing!”

She lowered her voice. “You're shouting.”

The volume of his voice lowered, but it was still tight. “What did you think you were going to buy here?”

“Besides the things on the list you said I had to buy, I need coffee. Maybe some cans of soup. I could probably do that without a microwave, too, couldn't I?”

“How did you think you were going to live on your own if you can't cook?”

“I never thought about it. No one really gave me the chance to learn, and now I don't have much choice. I'll
figure it out.” She extended her hand. “So give me back that pork chop.”

Bob sighed, but instead of handing her the pork chop, he tossed it into the buggy, along with another one for himself. “I should have figured something was amiss when you didn't know what that chopping board my mother gave you was for. I can get you started with a few basic techniques. I certainly can't let you starve to death.”

“Maybe cooking will turn out to be a hidden talent for me.”

“Talented or not, you've got to eat. We'd better get moving. We have to get everything you need and be out of here before they close for the night.”

 

Bob shuffled the bags he was carrying to balance on one arm, knocked on the door of the garage apartment, and waited.

He hadn't made it out the door at work as early as he'd hoped. Today he had promised George he would show her how to cook her own supper, which was supposed to be the pork chop they'd bought last night. With her questionable level of domestic ability, he feared for their safety if she were to start cooking without him.

The door opened.

“Sorry I'm so late, I…” Bob's voice trailed off as he looked at George's face. “You've been crying.” He dumped everything he'd been carrying onto the futon, and grasped her hands. “Did you burn yourself? Are you okay?”

He turned and looked at the table, which was set for two. A pot and a frying pan were on the stove, empty and unused. It wasn't injury.

“What's wrong?” he asked, not releasing her.

“I've been thinking about my sister, Terri,” she sniffled. “I tried to call her, but she wasn't home and now I can't stop thinking about her. I went to her house first when Daddy kicked me out, before I showed up at the shop. Her husband Byron was there, but he wouldn't let me in. I need to talk to her. Just in case I'm wrong. Or maybe just in case I'm right.”

“I'm afraid I'm not following you.”

George gulped. “I think another woman was there, that night and I want to talk to Terri about it, because if I'm right, this is something she should know. Everyone would tell me to mind my own business, probably her too, but I can't. I've picked up the phone a hundred times today. Then, when I finally got the nerve to finish dialing the number, Byron answered, and I hung up without saying anything. I'm such a coward.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

Bob's gut clenched. He'd heard comments about watching a woman cry from his brothers and his friends. Joking aside, his stomach really did feel strange. He wanted to hold George and soothe away the tears, but he wasn't in a position to do that. Even though they were going to be spending a lot of time in each other's personal space while he helped her get back on her feet, he certainly didn't want to get in any deeper by getting involved with her family. The woman needed some privacy.

He ran his thumbs gently over the insides of her wrists, and she sniffled again. The lump in his stomach turned to a rock.

It might have made sense before, but his position made him feel like a hypocrite. His own family had
pretty much adopted George in just one visit. After their lunch with his mother and siblings, Gene had called and asked if Bob was bringing her to his father's birthday party, since she'd already heard most of the preliminary plans. He only hung up for about ten seconds before his mother had called, offering to teach George how to make his favorite three-cheese lasagna. He didn't want to go there.

But he couldn't stand the thought of George facing her sister's marital problems without anyone to stand by her. With his large family, he'd never had to face a problem alone, unless he wanted to. He also had always had the support of his best friend Randy, as well as Paul and Adrian, and, of course, his partner, Bart.

Even though he'd lived by himself for over five years, Bob had never felt alone.

He didn't know what he could do, but if George tried to handle this herself, he felt as if he'd be sending her alone to face the wolves.

“Is there something I can do?”

“No. I don't even know if there's anything I can do.” She cleared her throat. “I really think Byron is cheating on Terri, and I think she should be told. I don't even care if she hates me for saying something, which she probably will. But I can't say nothing. That's not the way God wanted marriage to be.”

“Then I think you're right, you should talk to her.”

“I want to, but I don't know what to say. Do I just knock on her door and say ‘Hi, Terri, how's it going? By the way I think your husband is having an affair?' I don't know if I can do that. Besides, if I see Byron, I think I might just fall to pieces.”

“I think you're stronger than that.”

She said nothing. All she did was stare up at him.

He knew that her parents had separated when she was a child. Now with her sister's husband having an affair, Bob suspected that George had never seen the workings of a good marriage. On the other hand, Bob's parents had been wonderful examples. They were approaching their fortieth year together. When an issue came between them, they were often loud, but they always followed God's direction and worked it out.