Tea for Two (3 page)

“You saved his friend, Mr. Rossi?” O’Conner glanced up from his tablet. “From harm, you mean?”

“Yes, from harm. Saved Guido from a host of other issues, as well. He used to curse like a sailor.”

“Mr. Lucci, you mean?”

“No, Guido.” Laz grinned. “But we have a ways to go with Guido, if you want the truth of it. I doubt he’ll ever make it all the way to the heaven, unless I tuck him under my arm when it’s my time to go and we fly off to the great beyond together.”

“You plan to take Guido to heaven?” O’Conner eyed Laz with more suspicion than before. “You’ve made that your mission?”

“That’s the plan.” Laz leaned back in his chair. “Kicking and screaming all the way, I dare say.”

“Where is this Guido you speak of?”

“In the front hall.”

Every man in the room startled to attention and they all began to argue over whether or not they’d passed a man named Guido in the front hallway of Club Wed.

“Calm down, everyone,” I said. “Guido is just a parrot.”

“In the figurative sense?” one of the men asked. “Meaning, he just repeats what he hears others say?”

“I knew a guy in the mob like that,” O’Conner said. “Raised up from childhood with those thugs. Learned the lingo. Parroted everything they said. In his heart he didn’t really mean it, though. He turned out to be a great guy.”

“No,” I debated. “He’s a real, honest-to-goodness parrot. A bird. You passed him in the front hall.”

“Oh, the bird.” O’Conner scribbled something in his tablet. “Got it.”

“That bird called me a heathen,” one of the men said.

“And then sang
Amazing Grace
,” another chimed in.

“After a couple of rounds of
100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall,
” another added.

“You see my dilemma?” Laz sighed. “Poor old Guido can’t make up his mind if he wants to go to heaven or. . .well, you know.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Agent O’Conner narrowed his gaze. “You weren’t really in the mob, Mr. Rossi. And you, Mrs. Neeley, didn’t do jail time. And Guido is really a bird, not someone you plan to take out.”

“Right.” Laz nodded. “Now you’ve got it. But this conversation is reminding me that I do need to let Guido out of his cage for a while. He needs to stretch his wings a bit.”

“I see.” O’Conner closed his tablet. “Please wait until after we’re gone to release him. We’ll get busy clearing the others in the family so that this event can move forward.”

“Are you saying I should stop planning until you’ve cleared them?” I asked.

“Absolutely not. Please move forward with the plans. Mr. DeVine and Miss Brierley will be happy to know you’re on task. The last thing we need right now is a distraction.” He offered a strained smile and then shoved his notepad under his arm. “Now, just to fill you in, on the night of the wedding we’ll have a Motorcade Support Unit here. They’ll provide tactical support for official movements of motorcades.”

“Wait. . .we’re having motorcades?”

“Yes, but not until after the canine unit comes in for a sweep of the premises.”

“Gosh, I’ll have to get Guido out of here before then. He’s not very good with dogs.”

“Guido. The parrot.”

“Yes. Guido, the parrot.”

Laz started telling another story about Guido, but O’Conner cleared his throat. “Sir, we are the Secret Service. We don’t have light conversation.”

“You say that a lot.” Laz patted O’Conner on the back. “You should have it tattooed on your arm.”

“Mr. Rossi, I must inform you that Secret Service agents are prohibited from having visible body markings.”

Laz’s smile faded. “Oh, well I was just kidding about the tattoo.”

“Not just tattoos, sir. We’re not allowed to have body art or branding, and this would include any visible areas of the human anatomy, including but not limited to the head, the face, the neck the hands and the fingers.”

“Oh, well I didn’t really mean to imply that you—”

“If I were to get such a tattoo, I would be required to have it medically removed at my own expense in order to continue my duty to my country.”

“I see. Well, I really was kidding about the tattoo.” Laz shrugged.

“We don’t kid, sir.”

“I see that.” Laz’s gaze shifted to the door. I had a feeling he wanted to bolt.

“When one takes on the job of special agent, he—or she—takes the job very seriously. Very seriously.” O’Conner lowered his glasses, squinted at Laz—and then me—with his blue eyes, and then put the glasses back in place. “I have a fulfilling career carrying out integrated missions of investigation and protection, folks. I work with others in my division to implement strategies to mitigate threats to some of our nation’s finest leaders. No tattoo would be worth it. I’m sure you understand.” 

I understood all right. These guys didn’t mess around. And they didn’t have light conversation. And they were here to protect the future president of the United States, even if it meant driving the entire Rossi family to the brink of insanity in the process. 

CHAPTER THREE

The Power of Love

The politicians were talking themselves red, white and blue in the face.

Clare Boothe Luce

On Thursday evening, January 14
th
, the family gathered at my parents’ house to watch the Republican debate. Though we’d never been terribly political, knowing one of the participants first-hand suddenly gave us a vested interest.

We settled in in front of the television, bowls of popcorn in hand. Felt more like a movie theater experience than a political debate, but, with so many unknown variables, the popcorn felt right. So did the jokes from Uncle Laz, who insisted he’d rather be watching anything but a political debate.

“Lazarro Rossi, that’s the trouble with you.” Aunt Rosa slugged him on the arm. “You don’t know what’s going on in the world and you never will if you bury your head in the sand.”

“I’m blissfully ignorant.” He laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And we live on an island. There’s plenty of sand to bury my head in, thank you very much. Don’t mind if I do.”

Rosa clucked her tongue. “But the world is in trouble and we need to be voting for someone who can make a difference.”

Laz rolled his eyes. “Like any of them could make a difference.”

“They can, if they trust God to use them,” Mama said. “Hopefully a few of them will prove to be men—or women—of honor.”

One by one the candidates were introduced. I recognized many of them, of course. So did Pop, apparently. He pointed out Donald Trump and started sputtering. “There he is. That’s the guy who used to be on that show. What was it called, again? Celebrity something or another.”

“Apprentice,” D.J. said. “Celebrity Apprentice.”

“Why couldn’t things stay like they were? I always liked him on that show,” Rosa said as she settled onto the loveseat next to Uncle Laz. “He was such a natural. He sat at his big desk and fired the ones who didn’t get the job done. Remember how fun that was? Why did he have to spoil it all by running for president?”

“He’s just one of many candidates,” D.J. said.

“I see that,” Pop said. “Looks like there are more Republican presidential candidates than there are Rossis.” He slapped his knee and laugh. “And that’s a lot of candidates!”

“Yep. Beau DeVine is just one of many,” I explained. “From what I understand, he’s pretty low in the polls right now but he made it onto the main stage for the debate, which is an honor. Not everyone makes it into the main debate.”

“Which one is he, Bella?” Mama asked.

The camera panned the audience and I thought I caught a glimpse of Victoria. “Ooo, there’s our bride!”

“She’s running for president, too?” Pop asked. “I thought the only gal running for president was that Italian one.”

“If you mean Carly Fiorina, I’m voting for her,” Rosa said with a nod. “She’s a good Italian girl and that goes a long way in my book.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure Fiorina is her married name,” I said. “But I was talking about seeing the bride-to-be in the audience. And no, she’s not running for President, Pop. She’s engaged to—” My breath caught in my throat as Beau DeVine was introduced. “To him. To Beauregard.”

“Carly Fiorina—the one who’s not really Italian—is already married, but she’s marrying a guy named Beauregard?” Pop took a handful of popcorn. “That’s just weird. Don’t they know that polygamy is illegal? What country are they from, anyway?”

“No, you’re misunderstanding, Cosmo.” Mama hit Pop with a pillow and the bowl of popcorn went flying across the room and landed on the floor, spilling everywhere. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“What
I’ve
done?” He rolled his eyes. “These political candidates—the ones we’re entrusting our country to—are leading secret lives and you’re worried about a little popcorn on the rug?”

Mama knelt down and started picking up kernels and putting them in the bowl.

“They’re not leading secret double-lives, Pop,” I said.

“Well, I guess you’re right. If this DeVine fellow is marrying a woman who’s already got a husband and they’re talking about it publicly I guess we could hardly call it a secret. But what’s this world coming to, I ask you? We need folks we can trust in the White House, not people with loose morals.”

“Well, the rest of you can vote for whoever you like.” Mama looked up from her spot on the floor, her gaze resting on the TV screen. “I do believe I’m voting for that fellow right there, that young, handsome young man with the beautifully combed hair.”

“Rubio?” D.J. shrugged. “He seems pretty solid.”

“Oh, he’s solid all right.” Mama’s eyes widened and she almost dropped the popcorn bowl. “Yes, I do believe I’ve found my candidate.”

“We can’t choose our candidates based on their heritage or their good looks,” I reminded them. “We have to vote our conscience.”

“My conscience says to vote for this guy.” A funny smile turned up the edges of mama’s lips. “But I promise to pray about it.”

“Someone needs to pray,” Pop said. “So many strange choices. Remember the old days, when it was easy to choose a candidate? You just voted for the person everyone else in the family voted for. These days everyone marches to their own drumbeat. Families divided. Not sure I like that.”

“So, it makes more sense to vote for someone just because your uncle or son or brother tells you to?” Rosa rolled her eyes. “Those days are over. I want to make my own choices, even if it means no one else in the family speaks to me.”

“I’ll speak to you, honey.” Laz pulled her close and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Even if you don’t vote for me for president.”

“You? You’re running for president?” She snorted.

“Maybe.”

“Well, if you decide to run, I’ll definitely vote for you. Might be in the first time in years I truly believed in a candidate.” Rosa give him a passionate kiss, right there in front of God and everybody.

“It’ll be good to have your support.” Laz said. “Makes a man feel like a winner to have a good woman behind him.”

And that, I supposed, was what Beau DeVine was thinking right about now. Surely the love and support that Victoria offered gave him the courage to keep going, even when he didn’t feel like it.

“So, where’s that other lady?” Laz squinted at the TV. “The one we keep hearing so much about on the news.”

“Hillary?” D.J. settled back on the sofa. “You won’t be seeing her tonight. She’s with the other party.”

“She went to another party?” Laz yawned. “I can understand that. This one’s a little boring, if you want my honest opinion. I’d go to another party, too, but no one invited me.”

“Not a
party
party, Laz,” Rosa said. “We’re talking about a political party.”

“I’ve seen those big political shindigs on the news and they don’t look like much fun to me. All those people shaking hands and kissing babies and such. They’d be better off forgetting the parties and sticking to the things that matter.”

“We’re not saying Hillary is kissing babies, Laz. We’re saying she’s not debating tonight because she has different political ideologies. She’s making a run for the White House too, but you won’t see her during this evening’s event.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Uncle Laz calmed down.

Mama shook her head. “I just don’t understand why Hillary would want to go back to the White House, anyway. I mean, if I ever made it out alive, I’d never go back.”

“Maybe she wants to change the color of the drapes,” Rosa suggested.

Mama shook her head. “The president doesn’t change the drapes. There’s got to be more to it than that.”

“She could if she wanted,” Rosa countered. “If she’s the president.”

“True.” Mama nodded.

“Besides, I was speaking figuratively. Maybe she feels like her time there wasn’t done, so she needs to go back to finish up.”

“Maybe, but I still say, if I ever lived in the White House and made it out with my dignity intact, I would head home to Texas to live with the normals.”

“Who are you calling normal?” Laz asked.  “Speak for yourself.”

“He has a point,” D.J. added.

We settled down and watched the entire debate. Laz provided comic relief, and it would be an understatement to say that he didn’t exactly care for Beau DeVine’s answers. Still, we made it through the debate without anyone in the family getting too worked up. Well, except Mama. She appeared to swoon every time Marco Rubio came on the screen.

About ten minutes after the debate ended my cell phone rang. I was surprised when I saw Victoria’s number on the other end. For some reason, visions of Secret Servicemen ran through my head. I answered to an exuberant squeal from the other end.

“Bella! Did you watch the debate?”

“I did. We all did.”

“Thank you! Didn’t my Beau-Beau do a great job?”

“Yes, he—”

“I mean, he really put a couple of those guys in their place, you know? And he showed those commentators a thing or two! He knows his stuff. And his numbers are up already. I think voters are responding to his answers.”

“Sure. He did a great j—”

“Anyway, he had a great idea, and I love it, too. When I told him that your aunt and uncle have a show on the Food Network he asked if he could be a guest. See, Beau really loves to cook. He’s great in the kitchen. And he wants people to see that side of him. He thinks he’ll win over the female voters.”

“Well, women aren’t the only ones who cook, Victoria, so I’m not sure that’s a—”

“Oh, I know. He just feels like the voters see him as this tough, firm candidate and that can be a little intimidating to female constituents. So, he wants to set the record straight and show them what a softie he is in the kitchen. And he’s a great cook, too! You should taste his Veal Parmesan. It’s so yummy. And we always laugh so much when we’re cooking together. So, what do you say? Will you ask Rosa and Laz if they’ll schedule an episode with Beau-Beau in it?”

“I could ask, but the Network always schedules their show in advance.”

“We’ll deal with the network. They’ll be happy to have the future president on, I’m sure. So, if they’re okay with it, do you think your aunt and uncle will be? I think they’ll fall in love with my Beau-Beau.”

I bit my tongue to keep from telling her that Uncle Laz had already formed an opinion of her sweet Beau-Beau. Before I could say, “I’ll talk to them,” she ended the call, her focus now on her husband-to-be.

“What was all that about, Bella?” D.J. asked. “Sounded strange.”

“Um, yeah. Strange would be the right word.” I turned my attention to my aunt. “She wants to know if you guys would have Beau as a guest on an upcoming episode. Turns out he makes a great Veal Parmesan.”

Laz let out a grunt. “Let me guess. . .he wants to win over more voters?”

“I guess. But really, I think it might be fun. Don’t you?” I offered what I hoped would look like a winning smile.

“Might be good for a few laughs,” Laz said, and then quirked a brow. “At his expense, I mean.”

“I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much joking around,” I countered. “The house will be filled with Secret Servicemen. You know?”

At this news, mama began to fan herself. “I don’t know if I like this idea or not. I mean, it would be fun to one day say that we had the president of the United States over to cook in our kitchen, but what if things don’t go well? Then what?”

“Hey, it was his idea. And what could go wrong?”

D.J. gave me a “You’ve got to be kidding, right?” look but I did my best to ignore him. Well, until my father doubled over in laughter. Mama joined in and before long we were all talking about the comedic what-ifs. I had a feeling Beau and Victoria would be coming over to cook. . .and sooner, rather than later. How it would end? Well, that was anyone’s guess.