Tea for Two (4 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

I Can’t Help Falling in Love

Politics is too serious a matter to be left to the politicians.

Charles de Gaulle

Over the next couple of days Beau DeVine took a jump in the polls. Looked like several people really liked the guy. He’d won me over with a couple of his answers during the debate, but I still hadn’t made up my mind yet.

Apparently Beau had some pull—not just in political circles, but with the Food Network, too. He managed to get himself scheduled for Rosa and Laz’s next episode of The Italian Chef. Not that Beau was Italian. Or a chef, for that matter. Like Laz said, he probably just wanted to win over the voters. Still, the idea of having him in our home made my stomach churn, and not in a good way. I had to wonder why we couldn’t spill the beans about the wedding venue when Beau was so willing to appear publicly on my aunt and uncle’s show. I got my answer from Laz, who told me that the episode wouldn’t air until Valentine’s weekend. Even the Food Network had been sworn to secrecy. Go figure.

On the following Monday afternoon Beau and Victoria arrived at the Rossi home with a full entourage of Secret Servicemen. I wasn’t sure who was more nervous—the bride-to-be or Mama and Pop, who’d never greeted a presidential candidate before.

The Secret Service fellas made an interesting complement to the Food Network crew, who seemed more than a little surprised to find themselves surrounded on every side by men in suits. Rosa took it all in stride, particularly once she got to know Beau in person. He personally pinned a “Go with Beau” button on her apron and she beamed with delight.

Laz, on the other hand, wouldn’t take the button. “Sorry, dude.” He put his hands up in the air. “Don’t want to make a commitment just yet. Still haven’t made up my mind. Lots of candidates to choose from. And I’m thinking of a run, myself.”

“You are? Ah. I see.” Beau looked a bit disappointed, as if he’d never been rejected before.

“Yep. After seeing the lineup the other night I thought I might just run for president, myself.” Laz gave Beau a knowing look. “What do you think of them apples?”

“I think you’re a little late to the party,” Mama said. “Which clues me in to the fact that you’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding at all.” Laz crossed his arms at his chest. “I’m seriously thinking of running for President of the United States.”

“Will you run as a Republican or Democrat?” Beau asked. “You’ll need to decide quickly if you’re going to get the party behind you.”

“I will run as. . .” Laz paused and appeared to be thinking it through. “I’ll create my own party. We’ll call it the. . .” He pursed his lips. “I’ll call it the Food Party. I’ll be the first-ever Food Party candidate.”

“Food Party?” Beau laughed and slapped his knee. “That’s delicious. Get it? Delicious?”

Before long we were all laughing. Well, all but the Secret Service guys, who apparently didn’t see the humor in Uncle Laz’s joke.

“Yes, I’ll be the best candidate anyone’s ever seen,” Laz added. “Feeding folks from coast to coast. That’ll be my slogan. What do you think?”

“Feeding folks from coast to coast.” Beau paused and appeared to be thinking seriously about my uncle’s idea. “I think that’s a noble cause, Lazarro. Kudos for thinking outside the box.”

“That’s me, an outside-the-box kind of guy.” Laz slapped him on the back and Beau started coughing. This brought the Secret Service guys running. They backed away when Beau started laughing.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road. At least we’re not making tea party foods tonight,” Beau said. “We’ll save that for the wedding.”

“Interesting theme for a wedding.” Laz said. “Never been to a tea party, myself.”

“Right. I know it’s different.” Beau gave his bride-to-be a knowing look. “But, really, the whole tea party themed wedding was my idea. Kind of a political nod to the ultra-conservatives. They really seem to like me, and I want to keep that relationship strong.”

“You’re telling me that you themed your wedding to attract voters?” Mama looked flabbergasted by this notion. “Really?”

“Well, yes and no.” The bride scooted into the spot next to Beau. “After all, my name
is
Victoria and I’ve always loved the Victorian era. So, it was a mutual decision, I assure you. The whole political slant is just a side note.” She busied herself, putting on an apron on her husband-to-be, all chatter and nervous joking as she worked.

“Humph.” Laz stepped into his position behind the island. “My candidacy is looking more reasonable every moment.”

The conversation about politics shifted as the producer gave last minute instructions before filming. Minutes later, with the rest of us looking on from the hallway, the shoot got underway.

The episode started with Laz and Rosa cooking some of their Eggplant Parmesan. Yum. The tantalizing aromas wafting around the kitchen made me want to dive in. Alas, I could not. I had to keep my focus on their guest, the potential future president of the United States. Next, it was Beau’s turn. He prepped the veal, chatting all the while.

“So, we’re making Veal Parmesan, are we?” Uncle Laz asked. “One of my favorites.”

“Mine too.” Beau gave him a polite nod and kept working.

Turned out Beau DeVine was a consummate pro in front of the camera, even without a commentator feeding him questions. He knew just how to play to it with the correct angles and expressions. And I had to admit, he was shockingly handsome when one saw him up close. Dark hair, perfectly styled. Great skin. White teeth—suspiciously straight. Solid physique. Great suit. And he seemed to know his way around the kitchen, which won him over to Laz in a hurry. The guy had the perfect comeback to every joke, the ideal answer to every question, and the best possible camera angle for all of it.

Only one problem—he couldn’t exactly focus on the skillet of veal while showing off. He tried to crack a joke, but somehow dropped a spatula into the hot oil, which splattered up and over the edge of the pan. The hot oil shot down into the fire below, and it began to blaze. Rosa let out a scream. A half-second later, the bottom of the skillet was in flames.

You would’ve thought the whole house was going up in smoke. The Secret Service stopped the shoot and a medic was called in to make sure Beau was okay. He was, of course. Rosa cleaned up the mess, salvaged the veal and the shoot got underway again in short order. Beau didn’t look any worse for the wear, and neither did the veal, for that matter. Our guest of honor managed to get in a couple of politician jokes.

“Oh, you like jokes, do you, Mr. DeVine?” Laz squared his shoulders. “Well, that’s good, because I have a great one for you.”

“Go for it, Lazarro.” Beau continued his work on the veal, which, with the sauce and cheese, was starting to look very much like something Rosa and Laz would’ve concocted.

Uncle Laz reached over Beau to grab a wooden spoon. “Did you hear about the Italian chef who died?”

“No.” Beau flipped the veal, revealing a golden crust.

“He pasta way.” Laz slapped his leg. “Get it?
Pasta
way?”

Beau gave a polite chuckle, his gaze never leaving the skillet. “Good one, Lazarro. Good one.”

“Now I have a question for you,” Laz said. “Do you know what the word ‘politics’ means?”

“Well, of course.” Beau looked squarely into the camera as he responded. “It—”

“It’s from the word
poly
, which means
many
.” Laz gave him a knowing look.

“Yes, of course, and—”

“And from the word
ticks
which means
blood sucking parasite
.” Laz let out a raucous laugh and the cameraman started laughing so hard he almost dropped the camera. To my right, I saw Victoria flinch. O’Conner, who was standing to my left, didn’t take the joke very well, either. He cleared his throat, a sure sign that we needed to get on with this before he interrupted the shoot again. Beau lifted the perfectly cooked veal from the skillet and placed in the empty platter in Rosa’s hands.

“Didn’t like that one, eh?” Laz’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I have another one for you. What do you call a fake noodle?” Before Beau could respond, he hollered, “An
im
-pasta. Get it? An
im
-pasta? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

I had a feeling the Food network would be editing this episode. Heavily. For now, though, Rosa and Laz had to taste Beau’s offering. He cut a couple of bite-sized pieces of the veal and I found my mouth watering. Rosa and Laz each grabbed a fork and dove in. Rosa’s eyes closed and a delirious expression flooded over her face.

Laz’s eyes widened as he swallowed. Afterwards, he gave Beau a slap on the back. “Young fella, I tell you what. . .that was some of the best Veal Parmesan I’ve ever eaten, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Why, thank you.” Beau’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “That means a lot coming from you, Mr. Rossi.”

“Yes sir, some of the best I’ve eaten.” Laz took his now-empty fork and pointed it at Beau’s chest. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Yes, sir?”

“If this whole running-for-President thing doesn’t work out for you, you can always come and work at Parma Johns. We could use another good cook and I think you might be just the ticket.”

“Well, I. . .I. . .” Beau cleared his throat and looked into the camera. “We all know that’s not going to happen, but thank you kindly for the offer. You know what I always say. . .a well fed voter is a happy voter and a happy voter is happy to vote for DeVine.”

“Hogwash.” Laz took his fork and cut off another piece of veal and stuck it in his mouth. “Goofiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Then perhaps you’ll like my new motto,” Beau added. “Feeding folks from coast to coast.”

At this point, I thought Laz was going to slug him. He mumbled the words, “That jerk stole my slogan!” under his breath and his face turned beet-red.

Beau, probably trying to figure out a plan of escape, took a little nibble of the veal. A smile turned up the edges of his lips and the word “Delicioso!” followed.

Laz appeared to rally. He looked straight into the camera, his voice animated as he spoke: “I’ve seen a lot of cheese in this kitchen today, but not much of it has been on the food.” He slapped Beau on the back, which sent the senator into a coughing fit. Just about the time he recovered, the director yelled cut and Victoria swept in to make sure her husband-to-be was okay. Rosa started scolding Laz, who went off on a tangent about blood-sucking politicians. Mama stood in the background looking mortified and Pop. . .well, he inched his way backwards out of the room.

I was tempted to do the same. Still, I knew I must stay and face the music—er, face the bride and groom. Likely there would be a bit of dust to settle after the lights and cameras were turned off.

CHAPTER FIVE

Love Takes Time

Do you ever get the feeling that the only reason we have elections is to find out if the polls were right?

Robert Orben

After the Food Network guys slipped out I caught a glimpse of the Secret Service fellows in the kitchen nibbling on leftovers. They seemed more relaxed than before, though one of them—a fellow with a mole on his cheek—kept a watchful eye on Beau, who followed Rosa and Laz out of the kitchen and into the living room. O’Conner dove into Uncle Laz’s Eggplant Parmesan and a look of satisfaction came over him. He and the guys started talking about their favorite foods and before long everyone was relaxed and happy.

So much for ‘No lighthearted conversation.’

Minutes later, we were all seated on the oversized sofas, relaxing. Mama and I served up cups of coffee and Laz kept Beau entertained with his Food Party campaign ideas. They started out okay—and our guests laughed at most—but after a while Laz got just plain silly.

“First, I think there should be a tax break for everyone who eats pizza at least once a week. Secondly, I believe—and I mean this with my whole heart—that we need to pass a law that families must eat together at the kitchen table at least three times a week. That’s not asking too much. And, finally, I’m convinced we need to insist that families visit their homelands so that they never forget where they came from.”

“Only, many of them don’t really know where they came from,” Mama countered. “You know? I have friends who are fourth or fifth-generation Texans. Maybe they don’t know where their families originated.”

“Then we should insist they go to one of those ancestry sites to find out.” Laz nodded. “When I’m elected I’ll propose a bill to Congress. Every man and woman should know his or her heritage. It’s so important.”

“What do you think, Beau?” my uncle asked after filling our ears with his ideas. “Will the voters go for that?”

At once, Beau’s smile faded. The words, “I wish I knew what the voters wanted” threw us all for a loop. Just as quickly a forced smile lit his face. “I mean, I know what they want. They want someone fresh and new who will realign this country’s moral compass. I plan to be that someone. And I think your ideas are terrific, Laz. Absolutely terrific.” A fake smile followed.

In that moment, I saw a hint of pain in Victoria’s eyes. Though she never said a word, I understood her. She was about to marry a fellow who had become one big sales pitch. Every word out of Beau’s mouth was a slogan of some sort or a blurb about how he planned to save the country.

More than anything, I felt sorry for her. I could tell D.J. was uncomfortable with the dynamics between the two, as well. Instead of joining in the conversation, he offered to head over to Sophia and Tony’s place to pick up our kids. Go figure.

I managed to hang on with political jargon eking its way out of Beau’s mouth every few minutes. Laz didn’t seem to mind. He just piggybacked on our guest’s stories, offering his wacky solutions for the country.

Beau and Victoria left around seven o’clock. I arrived home in time to tuck the kids into bed. Afterwards D.J. and I settled in for the night.

“Was it just me, or did that guy seem a little. . .” My husband paused and shrugged.

“Fake?”

“I was going to say full of himself.”

“Yeah. I guess all politicians come across that way, though. They talk about themselves and their plan to fix things. . .a lot, apparently.” I paused and a memory came to me. “Hey, remember when Twila ran for mayor of Splendora last year? The other ladies couldn’t stand being around her. She started believing her own press.”

“Yes, but she finally repented. That’s the difference, I guess. We know Twila. We trust her. With someone like Beau, you have to wonder if he can be trusted or if he’s just canned air. You know?”

I shivered and then pulled the covers up to my chin. “Yeah but I’m getting to know Victoria and I think she’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s a great gal who doesn’t seem like the sort to make impulsive or foolish decisions, especially with something as big as her upcoming marriage. So, let’s give her fiancé the benefit of the doubt, okay? And they’re both Christians. . .or at least claim to be. So, maybe we’re just not used to the whole ‘campaigning’ thing. You know?”

“Sounds like we’d better get used to it, if Laz is throwing his hat into the ring.” D.J. snuggled up next to me and then laughed. “Can you even imagine your uncle in the White House?”

“Um, no.” I got tickled, just thinking about it. “He’d be serving up pizza in the situation room.”

“There would be quite a few ‘situations’ all right. And you know Rosa would redecorate the Oval Office. It would be Italian all the way.” D.J. shuddered then leaned over and gave me a little kiss on the shoulder. “Every presidential painting would be surrounded by a gilded gold frame.”

“I’d be more worried that Laz would keep Guido in there with him. He can’t seem to part from that bird for more than a few hours at a time, but he doesn’t do the best job keeping track of him. Remember that time Guido got loose and stole your dad’s toupee?”

“Like I could ever forget that.” D.J.’s kisses traveled up my shoulder to my neck and I giggled.

“Well, can you picture him flying around the White House, landing on some king or president’s head?”

D.J. stopped kissing me and laughed. “Actually, I can. I can also picture him quoting scriptures to incoming heads of state.”

“That might not be a bad thing.”

“Until he belted out
100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall
. Then what?”

“Then Rosa would pacify her confused guests with some of her garlic twists and all would be well.”

“True. Those garlic twists could certainly bring about world peace, don’t you think?”

“Um, yeah. Or your mother’s chicken fried steak. It’s a close second.”

“Mama. . .in the White House.” D.J. laughed. “If Laz became President, no doubt my parents would show up for a visit.”

“On their Harleys,” I threw in. “With their
Bikers for Jesus
vests, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And the Splendora Sisters would show up wearing their glittery blouses with their bouffant hair and overly-made up faces.”

“Wanting to sing at some big Presidential event,” D.J. added.

“And Laz would let them.”

“And then the powers that be in D.C. would fall in love with them and they’d be asked to perform regularly, which would mean Twila would have to give up her job as mayor of Splendora. And before long heads of state would be seeking the ladies out for their opinions on political matters.”

“They would give their opinions,” I added. “Probably on TV. Maybe the Larry King show.”

“Larry King’s retired.”

“Right.” I paused to think it through. “Jimmy Fallon. He’d do some sort of spoof with them. It would be hilarious. But the country would fall in love with them and before long they’d be asked to run for Congress. Or, better yet, Laz would appoint them to the Supreme Court.”

“Things would really get interesting then.” D.J.’s eyes widened. “Can you even imagine Twila, Bonnie Sue and Jolene sitting on the bench?”

“I can’t imagine them sitting still that long. . .anywhere. And they certainly wouldn’t agree to wear the robes. Not without glittery collars, anyway.”

“Right?” D.J. grinned.

“I don’t know why we’re talking about this, anyway. It’s not like Uncle Laz is really going to run for President, anyway. He doesn’t even know where he stands on the issues. If you ask him about global warming he tells you that he gave up electric blankets when we moved to the south.” For whatever reason, this got me tickled. I laughed until I lost my breath.

D.J. laughed, too, and leaned back against his pillows as he calmed down. “To be honest, I’m not sure Beau knows where he stands. . .on anything. Do you get the idea that he’s a little unsure of himself? When the cameras are turned off, I mean.”

“Definitely.”

D.J. sighed. “I hope—and I don’t really know the guy—but I hope he’s not just going through with this to try to prove something to himself or anyone else. Sometimes people get into things and feel like they can’t get out. Take the year I signed up for t-ball because my dad thought I should. I joined the team and there was no way out of it. Toughest year of my young life.”

“I thought you loved playing ball.”

“Nah, that was my brother. I was never very good at it. But I didn’t want to hurt my dad’s feelings. He wanted it for me, so I gave it my best shot. Maybe that’s what Beau’s doing too.”

“Maybe. Not sure who he’s trying to impress, though. I can tell you one thing, it’s not Victoria. I suspect she’d be just as happy if he went back to work at the law firm he started a few years back.”

“Can’t blame her there.” D.J. yawned. “Can you imagine how different life would be in the White House? I’m trying to imagine us living there with the kids.”

“Um, no.” I cringed. “For one thing, how would we keep those four rowdies from tearing everything up? I’d look away for a second and some priceless keepsake signed by Abraham Lincoln would be turned into a paper airplane by Tres. Or some heirloom purchased by Mamie Eisenhower would be shattered by Rosie. And the twins would insist on being held during every Cabinet meeting. You know?”

“I’d be more worried that you and I would never have any alone time.” D.J. gave me a funny look. “Do you think the Presidential quarters have video cameras?”

“Ack. Never thought about it.” I giggled as my imagination kicked into overdrive.

D.J. leaned over and kissed my cheek. “A fella needs his privacy when he’s got a gal as pretty as you.”

“O-oh?” I giggled as he kissed my ear. “Why is that?”

“Because, Bella Neeley, I couldn’t very well do this with the cameras rolling.” His kisses traveled down my neck to my shoulder.

Delicious shivers came over me as I enjoyed his nearness. “Mmm. I see.” A contented sigh followed on my end. “No, you couldn’t.”

“Guess I’ll never be president, then.” His gentle kisses moved down my arm and my eyes fluttered close. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Um, no, I don’t mind. You don’t have to be anything. . .but you.”

As his lips traveled back up my arm and eventually met mine for a kiss that set off fireworks, I had to conclude the obvious: D.J. Neeley might not be Oval Office material—he might not save the country from ruin—but he was all this little gal from Texas would ever need.