Tea for Two (6 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

I Can’t Stop Loving You

When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I'm beginning to believe it.

Clarence Darrow

On the morning of February 1
st
Uncle Laz placed a large sign in the front yard of the Rossi home that read
Lazarro Rossi for President
. According to my brother Nick he also hung two large posters in Parma Johns with similar wording, which had created quite a buzz among the customers. I couldn’t help but wonder what prompted my uncle to make a spectacle of our family like this, but what could I do to stop him? And I shuddered every time I thought about how Earline would react, once she found out. No doubt she would take him to task. Or question his sanity. The rest of us were already doing that.

I gave the sign in the yard a closer look as I pulled into the driveway of Club Wed next door. Looked like he’d used a pizza box to make it. Not the most professional approach, but it did seem to go along with his “Food Party” theme.

Theme.

Just thinking of the word reminded me of the upcoming tea party wedding. I needed to place a call to the caterers. After speaking with them I remembered that I needed to check in with my other vendors. I decided to set up a group call that included Scarlet, Gabi, Cassia and Hannah—the cake decorator, wedding dress designer, florist and photographer. Ten minutes later, I had everyone on the line. Hearing all of them at once wasn’t a piece of cake. They gabbed like BFFs who hadn’t seen each other for months. Should I remind them that they all lived within three miles of each other? Nah. I’d let them have a good time and then shift gears to talk about the wedding.

“Ladies, are you ready?” I asked when my patience wore thin.

“Ready,” Hannah said.

“Me too,” Scarlet chimed in.

“I’m here, Bella,” Gabi added.

“And me,” Cassia interjected. “Can’t wait!”

“Okay, before we talk about anything else, I wanted to let you know that we’ve hired a caterer this time around. It just made sense. Just got off the phone with them. We’ve finalized the list of appetizers and foods.”

“Why?” Hannah sounded genuinely perplexed.

“Because I don’t really know much about the kinds of foods Beau wants and, to be honest, I’m terrified of someone getting food poisoning or something random like that.”

Scarlet laughed. “Bella, please. With all of the weddings you guys have done, has anyone ever gotten food poisoning?”

“No, but this would be the time it would happen. And trust me when I say that no one in our family knows anything about the kind of foods they want. Fancy stuff. You know?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Ham, Brie and Apple Spread , Crab Louie Salad with Horseradish Panna Cotta, Spicy Tuna Tartare in a Sesame Miso Cone, Chinois Chicken salad in Miniature Won Ton Shells. . .and a ton of other things I can’t pronounce, most of it finger-food sized to fit the garden party theme. Earl Grey Pots de Creme, smoked trout with sliced cucumber and onion. And then there are the sweets: Orange-Cardamom Madeleines, petit fours in five different colors to match the plates, Almond scones with lemon curd and fresh raspberries. . .shall I go on?”

“Wow. I’ve never even tasted half of that stuff,” Scarlet said. “And I work in a kitchen.”

“Right?” I said. “Neither have any of us. So, how would we know if it came out right? We wouldn’t. Rosa doesn’t trust herself to do it and Laz just laughed when I gave him the list.”

“That says a lot,” Hannah chimed in. “Those two can cook just about anything.”

“Yep. We’re being cautious, though. We want the very best for these folks, so I’ve hired a high-end caterer from the River Oaks area in Houston. One of my brides used them a couple of years back. They’re very professional, and best of all, the groom actually knows the owner and loves the idea. They’re both happy. And we’re happy
not
to be responsible for it.”

“Well, that’s happy news.” Cassia laughed. “My family’s in the restaurant business and I don’t have a clue about any of those things you just listed. Is that what politicians eat?”

“Who knows what politicians eat. I just know that Rosa and Laz don’t want to cook. And it’s a huge relief not to have to fill the table ourselves. Did I happen to mention that we didn’t know the groom-to-be was running for president of the United States when these two put down their deposit to use Club Wed?”

“No way!” Hannah laughed. “Are you saying that you just found out when we did?”

“Pretty much. I got the first call from Victoria back in December when I was working on Justine’s wedding and she never mentioned his presidential run. I just found out when we got back from our cruise. So, um, yeah. . .I was a little stunned.”

“Wait, Justine?” Hannah echoed. “You did a wedding for a Justine? Did I do the photos?”

“The meteorologist,” Scarlet threw in. “The one with the Christmas wedding.”

“Oh yeah. I remember now.” Hannah laughed. “They’re all running together in my brain.”

“Mine too.” Gabi sighed. “I’ve been eating, sleeping and breathing wedding gowns.”

“I remember Justine,” Cassia said. “She thought she was going to have the ceremony outdoors but a freak snowstorm changed everything.”

“That’s the one. So, we go from having a freak snowstorm in December to the president—er, potential president—getting married at Club Wed on Valentine’s Day. Kind of makes me wonder what’s coming next.” A shiver ran down my spine all of a sudden. I did my best to shake it off.

“Well, I guess you could say that God is opening doors for you, Bella,” Scarlet said. “You prayed for that, you know. Long before you and D.J. opened the facility in Splendora, if memory serves me correctly. Way back in the early days, when you first took over Club Wed you prayed that God would bring in clients.”

“True.”

“And now He’s doing it.”

“True again.” I laughed. “If you had told me years ago that I would be hosting weddings for Hollywood stars and presidential candidates I would’ve said you were crazy.”

“And yet, here you are.” She laughed.

“Did you gals get ‘the visit’ from the Secret Service guys?” Cassia asked. “Scared me to death, and you don’t even want to know what my parents thought when they showed up at
Super Gyros
right as Mama was closing up.”

“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.” Scarlet laughed. “What did your parents think?”

“Babbas thought for sure it was the health inspector, come to shut down the family restaurant. Scared him to death. I think it was all the suits.”

“Drew thought they were from the IRS,” Hannah said. “In fact, he still thinks that.”

“Armando knew who they were,” Scarlet said. “But it still freaked him out. He’s not used to being watched that closely. They are a little creepy, don’t you think?”

“Creepy’s the right word.” I shivered. “But I’m sure they’re just regular guys. Take those dark suits away and you’ve got—”

“Some really buff guys in their boxers,” Scarlet said and then laughed. “Okay, okay, don’t tell Armando I said that, but those guys are really. . .”

“Solid?” Hannah said.

“To say the least. I guess I’ll never work for the Secret Service. I’m too fluffy.”

“And you’re having a baby, Scarlet. I’m pretty sure they won’t be hiring you any time soon.”

“True. Not that I envy them, anyway. I wouldn’t want to be away from my family like that. You know?”

Silence rose up between us. Hannah interrupted it with a question. “Did that strike a chord, Bella?”

“Sort of.” I sighed. “It’s okay. I’m just tired. Trying to balance life with four kids, a husband, a big family and crazy weddings. . .well, it’s starting to wear on me.”

“I understand. Drew and I only have one child and we’re tired all the time.”

“Can you imagine being in Victoria’s place?” Cassia asked. “I mean she and Beau are on the road every day, and they always have to put on their happy face, to be publicity ready. I can’t put on my happy face when I’m really down in the dumps, so I don’t know how they do it.”

“Yeah, I’ve wondered the same thing. And I have to wonder—this is just me, speculating—I have to wonder if they’re both as happy and positive as they let on. They remind me of a couple of professional ball players on a team that’s headed to the playoffs. The hype is there. The drive is there. But so is the fear that they won’t really win the game, after all.”

“Are you saying that she’s worried he’ll lose?” Scarlet asked.

“At this point, she might be more worried that he’ll win. But that’s just speculation on my part. Please don’t quote me on that.” I flinched as I realized I’d just spoken my thoughts aloud to my friends. I also found myself wondering if my phone was bugged. Oh well. The Secret Service guys were probably wondering the same thing.

“Is it true that your Uncle Laz is running for President?” Hannah asked. “He asked if he could put a poster in our studio window.”

“I saw it at Parma John’s,” Scarlet said. “Crazy, that he’s going through with this.”

“Babbas let him put up a poster at Super Gyros too,” Cassia added. “I guess it’s true, then?”

“He’s going to take this joke as far as people will let him,” I said. “So folks have got to stop encouraging him.”

“Are you kidding? Everyone on the island is all over the idea.” Hannah laughed. “Laz talked the mayor into being his campaign manager.”

“Bonnie Sue will be devastated,” I explained. “He talked her into the very same thing.”

“I guess they can duke it out.” Scarlet said. “Can you imagine Bonnie Sue and the mayor in a fist-fight?”

This led the ladies to a completely different conversation. On and on they went, talking about what life would be like with my uncle as president of the United States, Bonnie Sue and the mayor guiding him every step of the way. Before long, they’d drawn me in. All of my anxieties lifted as our giggles turned to chuckles and our chuckles to full-blown laughter.

In that moment, a realization hit. With these gals at my side, I could handle just about anything life threw my way. . .even a wacky uncle and an upcoming wedding with Secret Service agents as the guests of honor.

CHAPTER NINE

I Want to Know What Love Is

Politics, it seems to me, for years, or all too long, has been concerned with right or left instead of right or wrong.

Richard Armour

I didn’t claim to know much about politics but I did understand how the primaries worked. Mostly. On the 9
th
of February, just a few days shy of the wedding of the century, voters lined up at the polls in a faraway state called New Hampshire. There they would give some indication of Beau DeVine’s standings in the Presidential race. If the news stations could be believed, big decisions would be made, based on the outcome.

Not that I had time to think about the presidential race. I had other things on my mind: finalizing details for Beau and Victoria’s wedding. And even though this was just Tuesday, I felt as if things were now moving in warp speed. Half of me was terrified; the other half was happy to know the whole thing would soon be behind us.

I headed up to Parma Johns at lunchtime to meet with Scarlet. I needed to let her know that the guest list had grown by forty. This was now officially our largest wedding. . .ever. Where we would put all of the guests, I had no idea. We’d have to squeeze them into Club Wed like sardines.

Speaking of squeezing people in, I found Parma Johns crowded with lunch customers. Dean Martin’s
Pennies From Heaven
played over the loudspeaker and people munched down on the shop’s daily special, a large meatball pizza. Yum. I’d like to have a bite of that, myself. But first, to find Scarlet. I headed through the crowd to her adjoining bakery,
Let Them Eat Cake.

Before I could make it, though, Galveston’s mayor rushed my way. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Bella, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“A reporter from the
New York Times
is in town asking lots of questions. Why didn’t you tell me that we had a presidential candidate coming to town? I would’ve put up banners. . .or something. This is a very big deal.”

“Wait. . .what?”

“Beau DeVine is getting married at Club Wed? Sunday night? This would’ve been helpful information.”

“But Mayor Bradley, it’s supposed to be top secret information. No one is allowed to know except the vendors and they’re sworn to secrecy.”

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. See that fella right over there?” The mayor pointed to a table where a man with salt and pepper hair sat across from Mrs. Hightower, one of the island’s most well-to-do women. “That’s a Mr. Jamison from New York City. Yep, New York City, sitting right here in Parma Johns on Galveston Island. He works for the
New York Times
. We’re going to be famous, thanks to this wedding.” He straightened his tie. “Do I look alright? I don’t have pizza sauce on my face, do I?”

“You look fine. But why is he talking to Mrs. Hightower?” I asked.

“Because she’s the head of the Republican Women’s League here in Galveston, so he thinks he can get some information out of her. This is all so exciting. I mean, your little wedding facility is really putting Galveston on the map. But you owe us all an apology for not cluing us in sooner. Shame on you.”

I wasn’t sure which irritated me more—the fact that he called Club Wed a ‘little’ facility, or the idea that he thought I was just now putting Galveston on the map. Hadn’t we already done that when Brock Benson—star of stage and screen—came to town? And what was up with this reporter dude sailing into town and blowing our cover? I had a bone to pick with him and I felt sure the Secret Service would, too.

My uncle walked up just in time to hear the end of our conversation. “Did you say a reporter is here?” Uncle Laz looked around. He pulled off his apron and brushed the flour off of his pants. “How do I look?”

“What do you mean, how do you look?” I gave him a warning. “What does that matter?”

“I need to talk to him. Share a few things about my campaign. You know, Bella. Political stuff. Maybe he can help me get the word out about the Food Party.”

I groaned but didn’t bother to stop him. Uncle Laz headed the fellow’s way and before long had him engaged in conversation. I couldn’t be sure what my uncle was saying to him, but he got the fellow laughing.

I turned toward the bakery but before I could get there, Mama and Aunt Rosa approached.

“Bella-Bambina!” Mama wrapped me in a warm hug. “I didn’t know you were coming to Parma Johns today. Rosa and I were just about to have lunch. Join us?”

“Maybe, but first I have to talk to Scarlet. And you two probably need to do something about Uncle Laz.”

“Laz?” Rosa looked perplexed. “Where is he?”

“Talking to that reporter from the
New York Times
.” I gestured and my aunt gasped.

“Reporter? What in the world?” She took off in the direction of Laz, who had taken Mrs. Hightower’s seat across from the reporter. Curious, I followed behind her. Mama tagged along on my heels. We got to the table just in time to hear Laz say something that made the fellow laugh.

“I’m just so sad that so many candidates are dropping out of the race,” Laz added after the fellow calmed down.

“Why?” the reporter asked. “It narrows the field, which is good. On the democratic side they only have a handful of candidates. On the Republican side they’ve had, like, four hundred. It gets confusing when there are so many.”

“Still, I hate to lose them as competition,” Laz said. “I don’t want my race to the White House to be too easy. I want people to know I won fair and square, not because some of the fellas gave up before their time. You know?”

Before long the entire Rossi clan had gathered around the reporter. How could I give this stranger a piece of my mind if my family members kept feeding him information? On the other hand, wouldn’t it be better if I stayed ‘on the down-low’ as the Secret Service guys had said? Yes, I’d stay out of the guy’s sightline and avoid his questions altogether.

One by one my parents and siblings shared their thoughts on the election and the candidates. I wanted to hide under a table as the squabbling began. Only Armando refrained from participating, stating that he wasn’t registered to vote.

“Not registered to vote?” Rosa fanned herself. “Our children and grandchildren are going to read about this in their history books and it’s up to us to determine what they read. If we don’t engage in the process, then the ink on the pages won’t come from our veins. We can’t blame others if we don’t vote.” 

“We joke around a lot,” Mama said, “But voting is one of the rights we cherish the most. When I first came to this country with my parents, they celebrated when they got their cards to vote. I will never forget. Papa got in that line and waited his turn to cast his ballot for president of the United States. He was so happy. What an honor.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll register to vote.” Armando rolled his eyes. “But I’m clueless about who to vote for.”

“Why me, of course.” Laz chuckled. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, son? Your uncle is going to be the next president of the United States. It will be part of our Rossi legacy for the children and grandchildren to enjoy!” Laz rose and put his apron on as he headed toward the kitchen.

“We’re going to leave a legacy for our kids, one way or the other,” Mama said. “The question is, what sort of country do we want to place into their hands? What issues will we leave them to fix? What problems do we want to pass their way?” Great. Now she sounded like Earline.

“Well, when you put it like that. . .” He scratched his head. “Okay, okay. I’ll vote for Uncle Laz.”

“I wasn’t really saying you should vote for Laz,” Mama said. “Just vote your conscience. You’ll have a little one soon, Armando, and then you’ll understand. He’ll grow up to be a man—”

“Woman.”

“A woman?” My mother let out a squeal. “Really? Are you saying it’s a baby girl? You’re having a daughter?”

The reporter scribbled something in his notes.

“I. Am. So. Dead.” My brother slapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes widened.

He was dead, all right. Scarlet would kill him for spilling the beans. Still, what happy news! A girl!

“Ooo, this is primo!” Mama did a little happy dance, right there in the aisle of Parma Johns. “A baby girl! You’re having a girl! This is reason to celebrate. Oh, I just knew it! Go, team pink!”

“Who’s having a girl?” Mayor Bradley asked as he approached the table. He looked my way and I could read the question mark in his eyes. I started coughing. After catching my breath I managed an emphatic. “No, not me!”

The mayor shifted his gaze to Armando. “You, Armando? Your baby is a girl?”

Before my brother could say a word, Mayor Bradley patted the reporter on the back. “Now here’s a story for you, Mr. Jamison. Armando here is having a baby girl.”

The reporter’s eyes widened and his gaze shifted to my brother’s rounded belly. “And I thought I wasn’t going to get any good stories in Galveston.” He snagged a pencil from behind his ear and scribbled something else in his notepad. “You’re having a baby? Now, that
is
a story, especially in today’s political climate.”

“Why is that such a big story?” Armando asked. “Happens every day.”

“Hardly.” The guy scribbled down a few words and then peered into my brother’s eyes with great intensity. “So, Armando—You did say your name was Armando, right?—When, exactly, did you realize you wanted to become a woman?”

Aunt Rosa let out a snort and then doubled over in laughter and Mama looked, well, mortified.

“A
woman
?” My brother slapped himself on the forehead. “I
don’t
want to become a woman.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. These days, it’s perfectly normal.”

“Um, not where I come from. And just for the record, never once in my life did I ever think about becoming a woman.”

“That’s not a hundred percent true,” Mama said. “When you were a little boy you used to prance around the house in my high heeled shoes. And one time you dressed up in your sister’s ballet outfit.”

“Mama!” Armando looked horrified. “I was three.”

“Seven,” Mama countered. “But it was all in fun.”

My brother turned to face the reporter. “I repeat—and I want this on the record—I have never had visions of becoming a woman. Or, of having a baby.”

“Well, color me confused.” The reporter grew silent and then appeared to have a light bulb moment. He snapped his finger. “Wait! I’ve got it! You’re using a surrogate to carry your child.”

“Surrogate?” Armando shook his head. “No idea what that is, but I don’t need anything special to carry my own baby.”

“So, you
are
pregnant, then?” The reporter went into a scribbling frenzy.

“No. And this is the craziest conversation I’ve ever had.” Armando slapped himself on the forehead. “I mean, I know I’ve put on a few pounds—and I kid around all the time that I’m in my sixth month—”

“Sixth month?”

“But I’m not having a baby.”

“But the mayor said you’re—”

“Scarlet.
She’s
having a baby.”

“Scarlet is a surrogate?” The reporter asked.

Armando crossed his arms at his chest and glared at the man. “Stop. Calling. My. Wife. Names.”

“Wait, she’s your. . .wife?”

“Of course. And she’s having a baby girl. Only, I’m not supposed to tell anyone any of that.”

Mr. Jamison now wrote very slowly. “Rossi. Girl. No surrogate.”

Oy vey.

The guy tapped his pencil on his notepad. “Hey, I think I met a Scarlet. She runs the bakery. She’s pregnant?”

“Well, of course she’s pregnant. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. With a baby girl.” Armando pinched his eyes shut and muttered, “Which is totally private information. I’m not supposed to be telling a soul until our Rossi family dinner on Friday night.”

“Did you say you’re one of the Rossis?” The reporter gave him a penetrating gaze.

“Yep.” My brother nodded.

“Related to Lazarro, who’s running for president as the Food Party candidate? I think I’ve got it all now. It’s making sense to me.”

I was glad it was making sense to somebody.

At this point Rosa got so tickled she couldn’t stop laughing. The music overhead switched to
Mambo-Italiano
, which played loudly in the background.

“Laz is my uncle,” Armando raised his voice to be heard above the music. “But he’s not really running for office. He just has illusions of grandeur.”

“Did you say he has delusions?” The reporter scribbled in his tablet. “Is he on medication?”

He wasn’t. But I had a feeling we would all need some if this story hit the news.

“You Rossis are quite an interesting family,” the reporter said. “But there’s one family member I have yet to speak to.”

“Who’s that?’ Armando called out above the music.

“Bella. Would you happen to know a Bella Rossi-Neeley?”