The Devil Served Desire (26 page)

"Pudgy?
Pudgy!
How dare you!" She jerked his coat off the back of the chair and shoved it into his chest "Get the hell out of this restaurant, out of my life and out of my city."

He rose and draped the black leather over his arm. "What, you can't take a little constructive criticism?"

"What I don't take is bullshit from jerks like you. Now get out." She gave him a little push.

He stumbled backwards two steps. And actually looked surprised. Apparently, not many women rejected Antonio.

"Is there a problem here?" Franco asked, hurrying over to the table. "I bring a special treat for the bride." He hoisted a large dish of zabaglione with a smile, then laid the bowl and a tray of smaller serving dishes and biscotti before Mary Louise.

"No, not anymore. The
problem
is just leaving," Maria said.

Mary Louise had also hurried over. "Oh, don't go," she said. "Why, you're the only man at our party." She gave him a bright smile.

Five minutes ago, Mary Louise had been too wrapped up in her thong panties and edible underwear to hear the exchange between Maria and Antonio. Now, when he was clearly being a jerk, she was trying to play hostess?

"Mary Louise, I don't need you to interfere. Antonio and I—"

"Were just ending things," Antonio interrupted.

"You broke up? At my bachelorette party?"

Antonio gave a somber nod, as if it were the most tragic event in his life. Just as he had in high school, Antonio capitalized on every bit of female sympathy he could find.

"He—" Maria began.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mary Louise said, cutting Maria off. She laid a hand on Antonio's arm. "Why don't you come over here and keep us girls company? Maria's got another friend in the kitchen, anyway." She gave Maria a jealous, catty look.

"That's not true. We—" Then Maria stopped trying to explain. Why waste her breath with these people, anyway?

"Antonio's right," Mary Louise said, looking down her skinny nose. "You
are
pudgy. And I think you should leave my party. You're causing a disturbance."

"Oh, I haven't caused anything yet." And before she could think about what she was doing, she picked up the bowl of zabaglione and dumped it onto Mary Louise's head. "You could use a few calories."

A collective shriek went through the restaurant crowd. Maria picked up her purse and turned away from the table, leaving Mary Louise gasping through custard and Antonio crooning over her, offering to help clean it off.

Too bad there hadn't been two bowls.

She'd almost reached the door when Franco hurried up to her. "Oh, don't go," he said. "Stay. Have a glass of wine."

Maria paused, closing her eyes. She let out a sigh, regret replacing the air in her lungs. "Franco, I'm sorry about the thing with the dessert back there. Sometimes, my Italian temper takes over and I act without thinking."

Franco shrugged. "I would have done it if you didn't. That woman, she is a thorny stick waiting to be broken by the right foot."

Maria laughed. "You're right about that."

He nodded toward the lounge area, separated from the restaurant by a glass door. "Go in there. Enjoy yourself."

All she wanted to do was go home and retreat into a lump of self-pity. Consume as many calories as she could and sob over the fact that all her work had been for nothing. Antonio saw her as a fat, unattractive woman who was only good for one thing—to do his homework. Nothing had changed since high school.

But if she walked out that door right now, she'd look like she was going off to do exactly that—sulk. And the last thing she wanted any of them to think was that Maria Pagliano was bothered by one damned word they'd said.

"You're right, Franco." She turned on her heel and headed toward the bar.

"I'm always right." He held the door for her. "Franco is one smart cookie."

When Franco came hurrying into the kitchen, Dante knew something was up. "You, go out. Get a drink," Franco said.

"You know I don't drink when I'm working."

"Get a Coke. At the bar."

Dante looked at the bustling kitchen. "I really—"

"The kitchen won't explode if you leave for two minutes." Franco gave him a little push. "Now go."

"No. Not until you tell me who is in the bar."

Franco shrugged, doing his Marcel Marceau interpretation.

"Maria is in there, isn't she?"

He shrugged again.

"I have nothing to say to her."

"No?"

"No."

Franco busied himself with straightening a pile of forks in a plastic bin. "Always there are words to say. Sometimes only three words."

Damned if he'd
ever
say those three words to her. Not after she'd torn his heart better than the best Cuisinart on the marketplace. He was through chasing after her. Sometimes the hunter needed to let the damned deer get away. And go after some slow-moving elk instead.

"Didn't you see what she did?" Dante said. "She met another man here. After all we—" He shook his head. He wasn't going to finish that sentence. He wasn't even going to
think
about how that sentence ended.

He was done with Maria Pagliano. Done. Done.

Done
.

"She gave him the boot." Franco nodded. "Good thing, too, or Franco might have had to throw him out He no good."

"I don't care."

Franco peered into Dante's eyes. "You can never lie to Franco. I know you since you were little boy. Your lies, they show in your eyes, right there, by the dot." Franco pointed, nearly blinding Dante in his show and tell.

"You have a job to do. And if you want to keep it, I suggest you get out there and tend to the customers."

"I go nowhere until you tend to your heart."

Dante let out a curse. "Fine, if it will make you feel better, I'll grab a soda and come back. But I'm not talking to her."

"Uh-huh. Two lovebirds in the same tree, they cannot help but chirp."

Dante shook his head and left the kitchen before Franco came up with another twisted homily.

She sat at the bar, the red dress riding up a little on her thighs, sipping at a soda. She crossed one leg over the other and his pulse accelerated.

Apparently, his hormones hadn't gotten the message from his brain yet. Oh, damn. This was a bad idea.

He turned to go back into the kitchen, but she saw him before he could go.

"Dante." Her voice was soft, not full of any message at all.

He nodded toward Sonny, the bartender. "Coke, please." If Sonny was surprised to see Dante in the bar in the middle of the evening getting his own beverage, he didn't show it He merely pushed the button on the dispenser to fill the glass, then slid it over.

Dante didn't sit on one of the bar stools because he didn't intend to stay. He looked at her, waiting for her to say something.

"I know you're mad at me," she said after a moment. "You have every right to be. What I did was wrong and stupid and—"

"I should have known better going into this thing. You warned me, after all." He took a sip of the Coke. It could have been water for all he tasted. "You don't want a man who comes with expectations you might have to deal with. You want some Rico Suave guy who's going to treat you like shit and then dump you for someone else."

She glanced away. "That's unfair."

He took a step forward. "Is it? I saw you with that guy. Antonio, was that his name? He had jerk all over him. You think by dating guys like that you can protect your heart. But all they do is help you build the wall around it."

The quaver in her lips told him the last sentence had hit home. But then she straightened and went back to being all Maria again. Tough cookie, right to the end.

"Dante, you don't understand."

Sonny had quietly slipped to the opposite end of the bar, busying himself with drying glasses and tending to the other customers. Dante lowered his voice so he wouldn't be overheard.

"I understand everything," he said. "You told me you like the illusion of control. And you know what? That's all you have. An illusion. You don't control a relationship because you aren't putting anything into it. You have to
feel
something, Maria, to have something to control. And you never felt anything for me at all."

"That's not true."

"It isn't? Then tell me what you felt. When you kissed me. When you made love with me. When you turned to another man in my restaurant."

She looked at him. A long moment passed and then she looked away, without saying anything.

"You're afraid to tell me what you feel. Because then you'd have to deal with it." He let out a half-laugh. "You're not in control of a damned thing, Maria."

"Walls keep you from being hurt, Dante. They stop people from getting in and breaking your—" She shook her head, as if she couldn't find the words she wanted.

"They also stop you from letting anyone who really cares get close. I like you," he said. "In fact, up until tonight, I thought I was falling in love with you." Her eyes widened and something lit inside them, then went out when he continued. "But I am not a masochist. I'm not going to keep throwing myself against a wall that isn't going to budge."

And then he left before he started listening to his foolish heart.

Mamma's Not-Everything-is-as-It-Seems Ravioli

2 pounds fresh spinach

1/2 pound ricotta cheese

2 eggs

2 cups grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg

Salt and pepper

Ravioli sheets

Sauce:

1/2 cup butter

7 to 9 fresh sage leaves

You expected meat in my ravioli, no? Well, Mamma has another surprise up her sleeve. Wash the spinach well, then cook in boiling salted water until tender. Drain, let cool, then squeeze out as much water as you can. Use your muscles or ask your big strong man to use his.

Chop your spinach, then add the ricotta, eggs, Parmigiano, nutmeg, a little salt and pepper. Now, take your pasta sheets, one at a time. Don't let them dry out. Work fast because your daughter is not getting any younger. You need to teach her these lessons before she's old and gray and bitter.

Put a teaspoon of the filling on your pasta, two inches apart. Cover with a second sheet, then press down to form little pockets. Cut out squares with your pastry wheel, then let ravioli dry for half an hour. Long enough to talk with your child about her future.

Heat the butter and sage over low heat and do not let it burn. Then drop the ravioli into boiling salted water and cook for just a little bit, a few minutes. Drain and serve with butter sauce before your daughter can escape out the back door. Show her with these raviolis that even Mamma sometimes has something a little different cooking in her kitchen.

At the end of the day Tuesday, Mamma walked into Gift Baskets, a woman with a purpose. She had on her two-inch pumps that she usually reserved only for Mass, her purse under one arm, locked into place by her hand on the clasp, as if a mugger might come out of nowhere and snatch the Lillian Vernon personalized faux leather handbag.

"I want to speak to you," Mamma said.

"Mamma, what a surprise! You hardly ever come by the shop."

"I come now. My daughter tells her father to tell me to stop interfering. Why you do that?"

Maria let out a breath. She was afraid it might come to this. "Because you're always fixing me up with every single man in the North End. I wish you would stop trying to marry me off."

Her mother stood there for a second, saying nothing. A long second passed before she spoke again, her voice soft and sad. "All I want is for you to be happy."

"That's all I want, too." Maria sighed. "Listen, I have to close up the shop. Do you want to walk home together?"

Mamma nodded. "I come to see you. In the shop. On the street. No matter."

Maria turned off the lights and locked up the doors, then grabbed her purse before setting the alarm and leaving Gift Baskets.

They started down the sidewalk, heading toward home in the early April evening. "You are not happy,
cara
," Mamma said.

"I was, before all this happened."

"No. No you weren't."

Maria let out a gust. "How do you know that?"

They stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change. "I see your eyes,
cara
. In them is a lonely heart. You say you not want a man, but..."

"I don't
need
a man. That's different from wanting."

The light changed and they crossed the street, walking at the brisk pace that came from living in Boston all their lives.

"You don't need a man, maybe. But you need someone to love you."

"Mamma, I don't. Really."

Her mother tsk-tsked her. "Everyone needs love. It's food for the soul."

"My soul is well fed, believe me." She patted her hips. "Too well fed."

Her mother didn't say anything for a while, just kept up her steady pace, those shoes making a steady click against the sidewalk. A few minutes later, they reached the entrance to the North End. "Why you hate marriage so much?"

"I don't hate it. It's... it's not for me."

They went on again in silence for a while and then crossed onto the street that led to her parents' house. "You don't want what your mother has?"

How to answer that and keep her mother from disowning her, or worse, going into cardiac arrest right here on the Street? No matter what she said, there were bound to be hurt feelings. And truly, the last thing Maria wanted to do was hurt her mother. "I want different things in life. That's all."

"You think your mamma live a life so bad?" she asked as they turned the corner.

When Maria didn't answer, Mamma waved toward the entrance to her house. "You, come with me. I show you something." They entered the back door and Mamma waved her toward a kitchen chair. "Sit."

Maria sat. She'd already disappointed her mother today, no sense disobeying her, too.