Just a Taste (18 page)

Anthony pressed his lips to her forehead. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Vivi. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“A
nthony?”

Anthony felt his stomach heave at the sound of Insane Lorraine’s voice. Vivi had left Dante’s, but he had deliberately remained behind to think about what had just passed between them. The kitchen was where he thought best. It was his home, the place where he felt most alive. He’d been deep in thought when the drone of Lorraine’s voice broke the silence.
Mother of God, is there no escaping this woman?

“Lorraine, how did you get in here?”

She was standing by the kitchen doors wrapped in a long camel hair coat, her eyes nervously shifting to and fro. Never mind Vivi and the cleaver, Anthony thought tensely, Lorraine is about to pull a Squeaky Fromme.

“I’ve been here since the party.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck. “You were at the party?”

Lorraine nodded. “Hiding in the bathroom. I told Michael I left something here after work on Friday, and he let me in.”

“Great.” Michael was going to pay for this. “Well, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to give you your Christmas present.”

“I don’t accept presents from my employees,” said Anthony, discreetly slipping Vivi’s cleaver into the nearest utensil drawer, “though I appreciate the gesture.”

Lorraine took two steps towards him. “Please, Anthony? You’ve done so much for me.”

Anthony sighed. He was trapped, and he knew it. The only way he was going to get her out of here was by capitulating. “Fine. Give me your present.”

He held out his hand to receive it. Instead, Insane Lorraine opened her coat, revealing her naked body beneath. “I love you, Anthony,” she declared breathlessly. “Fill me with your man seed. Let me bear your children.”

“Jesus Christ!” Anthony roared, his hands flying up to cover his eyes. “Close your coat, Lorraine!
Now!
”

“Think of how beautiful our children would be,” Lorraine continued unfazed. “I want—”

“Close your coat or I’m calling the cops!”
He turned his back to her.

“But—”

“No buts!
Do it!
”

He had been half-prepared for her to attempt to stab him. But he’d never expected her to flash her boobs and everything else God gave her. And to do it in the kitchen at Dante’s! Talk about a desecration of sacred space. She was finished. Fired. Done. Mikey was a dead man.

“You decent?” Anthony called over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“You swear on your mother’s eyes?”

“Yes,” Lorraine said in a defeated voice.

Anthony cautiously turned around, peering at her through the screen of his fingers. She’d closed her coat, and wrapped it tight. She wouldn’t look at him.

Compassion,
he said to himself.
Christmas, peace on earth, kindness to your fellow men. Be nice
.

“Lorraine, I think you need to talk with someone. Your memory doesn’t seem to be very good. Remember what I told you at your house? I’m your
boss
.”

“But I love you, Anthony. I always have. Remember in high school…those anonymous notes stuck in the hands of your mother’s statue of Saint Francis? Those were from me.”

No shit.
“Lorraine.” He tried to keep his voice kind; it wasn’t easy. “I’m sure you can find someone just right for you, if you just try. Please, this situation is making me very uncomfortable. Go home right now, before I get angry.”

“I need a ride,” she said pitifully.

Anthony fought the temptation to pull his new cleaver out of the drawer and whack himself in the skull with it. “No problem. Just—keep your coat closed, okay?”

“N
o way in
hell am I firing her right before Christmas.” There was no mistaking Michael’s vehemence as he glared at Anthony from his perch three steps above on a Macy’s escalator. Two days until Christmas, and of course his brother had yet to shop for anything for Theresa or the kids. Anthony supposed it could be worse; he could have waited until Christmas Eve. But this was pretty bad. The store was packed wall-to-wall with shoppers whose nerves were frayed as they searched for the perfect gift.
Goodwill toward men my ass,
thought Anthony. It was every man for himself in the department store jungle.

Anthony was resolute as he followed his brother off the escalator. “You hired Lorraine. You fire her. It’s that simple.”

“I’ve never fired anyone in my life,” Michael protested, making a beeline for a low-cut blouse that a woman in a fur coat plucked from the rack just as he was reaching for it, her expression victorious. “
Minghia
, these people are like animals.”

“Ever hear of the Internet?”

“I’ll try that tonight if we don’t find anything here.” Michael looked around desperately. “Shit. Maybe I should just get her a gift certificate.”

“Then she’ll know you left it until the last minute.”

“She already knows. When I told her I was hanging out with you today, she gave this weird little smile and said, ‘Have fun.’”

Anthony shrugged. “So she knows. So what?”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Anal Retentive.”

Anthony just chuckled. It was true, he tended to get his holiday shopping done way ahead of the curve, mainly to avoid the chaos they now found themselves in. Angie had been even worse; she used to complete her holiday shopping by Thanksgiving.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Vivi. What was she doing right now? France was five hours ahead, making it seven p.m. in Avignon. Was she cooking for her mother? Seeing old friends? He couldn’t believe how joyless everything felt since she left. Hopefully, watching Mikey’s kids open up their gifts on Christmas morning would help cheer him up. He wouldn’t be able to stand feeling this gloomy for the next two weeks.

Michael sprinted toward the lingerie section, grabbing the first bra he set eyes on. “What about this?”

“It’s a nursing bra, Mikey.”

Michael looked at it. “You’re right.” He put the bra back on the rack.

“C’mon, man, you can do better than this,” Anthony cajoled. “Where’s that hopeless romantic Theresa always says she fell in love with?”

“Tickle Me Elmo killed him.”

“Maybe it’s time to give the stay-at-home dad gig a second thought, then,” Anthony said delicately.

Michael glared at him. “This isn’t the time.”

“With you, it’s never the time. I have an idea: you could take over for Insane Lorraine.”

Michael didn’t smile. “You’re really expecting me to fire her, aren’t you?”

“You’re goddamn right I am! You made this mess, you’re going to fix it!”

“Okay, okay, how about this,” Michael said, plunging blindly into a sea of women’s lace and silk. “How about I find her another job?”

“Fine. But fire her first.”

“That’s pretty hard-assed, Ant. Especially since she’s working off the books. We fire her, we can’t even say she was laid off so she can collect unemployment. She gets nothing.”

“Not my problem,” Anthony growled.

“Let her work until I find her something else.”

“Yeah? And what if she flashes me again? What if she does something nutty in the middle of the dining room? What then?”

“I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her she’s got to keep her shit together, or else.”

Anthony snorted. “Like she’ll listen to you.”

“She’ll listen to me. I got her this job. I’m like a God to her.”

“Whereas I’m just a potential stud.”

“Speaking of studs,” Michael said, holding up a beautiful, sky blue kimono for Anthony’s input, “did you and Vivi have a tearful good-bye? I was surprised to see her at the Blades party.”

“I was surprised to see you at the Blades party,” Anthony shot back. “You were the only ex-player there.”

“I own half the restaurant, remember?” Michael snapped. “I wanted to make sure everyone was having a good time.”

“Sure, fine, whatever. Thumbs-up on the kimono.”

Michael threw the kimono over his arm with a glare. “You never answered my question about Vivi.”

“We’re gonna talk again when she gets back.”

“Screw talking. Don’t you think it’s time to ‘do’?”

“I think that’s between me and Vivi. Now let’s get the hell out of here before I start verbally abusing the elves.”

“U
ncle Anthony! Look!”

Anthony yawned and rubbed his bleary eyes as his niece Dominica held up some kind of doll with an emaciated body and giant head. It was six a.m. Christmas morning, still dark outside, and Michael’s kids were already up and opening their presents. It was tradition for Anthony to be there. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Still, he wished the kids had slept in for a little bit. When his phone rang at five thirty and it was his brother telling him the little ones were already champing at the bit to get to their toys, he couldn’t believe it. He’d barely gotten three hours of sleep.

Part of his exhaustion stemmed from how hard he’d worked the night before. The extended family always had the traditional Italian “Seven Fishes of Christmas Eve” dinner late at night, before Midnight Mass but after Anthony had finished up at the restaurant. When his mother had been alive, she’d been the primary cook. But since her death, the responsibility had fallen to Anthony, a task he accepted gladly. None of his dotty old aunts could cook worth a damn.

Dominica shook the doll in his face, impatient for an answer. “The doll’s nice, honey,” Anthony managed. Satisfied, she moved on to her next gift, tearing the wrapping paper with gusto.

Anthony stole a glance at his brother and Theresa, both of whom looked as tired as he imagined himself to look. Baby Angelica was sitting on Theresa’s lap in the rocking chair, looking bright eyed and adorable in a little Santa’s hat. Little Ant was on the floor with his sister and father, his gift-opening much more deliberate than Dominica’s. So far, Dominica had opened three gifts to Little Ant’s one. Anthony could foresee her running out of presents to open before Little Ant was even halfway done with his, a scenario guaranteed to generate some resentment. He hoped his brother or sister-in-law would tell her to slow down.

“Here, open this.” Michael stretched forward to pluck a gift from the far recesses beneath the tree, turning to wink at Anthony before handing it to his son. There was excitement on Little Ant’s face as his fingers tore at the wrapping, but his face fell when he opened the box.

“New skates.” Michael was beaming as he tousled his son’s hair. “Whaddaya think, huh, kiddo? You’ll be lightning on the ice in those babies.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Little Ant replied glumly as he returned the skates to their box, pushing the gift far back under the tree. Theresa caught Anthony’s eye, shaking her head in silent disbelief at her husband’s utter cluelessness.

Anthony decided to rescue the moment. “My turn,” he said, handing Little Ant one of the gifts he’d bought him.

“What about me?” Dominica pouted.

“I’ll give you yours in a minute,” Anthony promised, perching expectantly on the edge of the couch as Little Ant slowly opened his present. It was sad; thanks to his father, the kid seemed almost afraid to discover what was inside.

“Look!” Little Ant gasped when all the paper had been torn away. “Cookbooks!” He held them up for his parents to see before jumping up to give Anthony a hug. “This is the best, Uncle Ant! Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Anthony, pleased to have done well. Last year he’d gotten Little Ant some stupid talking robot that fell apart after ten minutes. This year he’d scored ten out of ten, both with Little Ant and Vivi. Not bad.

He turned to ask Michael a question and was taken aback. The look of resentment on his brother’s face was unmistakable. “I need to talk to you when we’re done here,” Michael murmured under his breath. Anthony nodded curtly. He could guess what was coming.

“L
ook, you have
to lay off with the cooking stuff.”

Anthony watched as his brother halted in the middle of the kitchen floor, sloshing coffee over the rim of his mug. Theresa was still out in the living room with the kids, helping Dominica dress her new doll while listening to Little Ant read aloud the recipes he wanted to try. Baby Angelica sat on the floor beside her mother, shredding wrapping paper to her heart’s delight.

“He liked the gift, Mike. He likes to cook. Those cookbooks are geared specifically to kids.”

“I don’t care.”
Michael’s expression was momentarily hostile; then he backed off. “I didn’t mean that. What I mean is, with school and all, Little Ant really only has time for one extracurricular activity, not two.”

“And you want that activity to be hockey.”

“Right.”

“Have you ever thought of consulting Little Ant about that? Seems to me he’d rather be in the kitchen than on the ice.” Anthony went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs. He’d scramble some up for everyone for breakfast.

“He just needs a little more time to warm to it,” Michael insisted.

“He’s been playing for what, four months now?” asked Anthony, grabbing a frying pan and throwing a healthy-sized chunk of butter into it.

“Yeah? So?”

“Don’t you think he knows by now whether he likes it?”

“He’s a kid, Anthony. He changes his mind every thirty seconds.”

“Except when it comes to wanting to cook,” Anthony pointed out, reveling in the aroma of the sizzling butter.

“I want him to be part of a tradition,” Michael continued, seeming not to hear.

“He is,” Anthony said sharply. “The cooking tradition. Dad, me, and now him. What, it has to be hockey?” He glared over his shoulder at his brother. “Cooking isn’t macho enough?”

“You know that’s not it.”

“Then what’s your problem?” Anthony broke six eggs into a bowl and began whisking them with a fork. “Why can’t you just let him be who he wants?”

“You sound like Theresa.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we’re on to something here. Go put up some toast.”