by Shirley Jump
Salt and pepper
Tear the lettuce and cut the tomatoes. Mix in a bowl. Easy as pie, but without the calories. Peel and chop the rggs, then the avocado. Add those, along with the cheese And basil, to the bowl. Simple and yummy. The best kind of meal for a Chum.
Whisk together the lemon juice, oil and mustard, hrasoning with the salt and pepper. Nature's dressing, without all that extra fat and calories. Serve on the side for dipping to reduce the calorie count.
Think of every bite as love for your width and height. This is a meal that helps you stay on track, while a good Chum will help you pick up the diet slack. And remember-Chubby Chums can be as fruity as plums!
CHAPTER 27
On Saturday morning, Maria was redeemed. And she didn't even have to go to confession to be forgiven.
Antonio called, his voice a low purr over the phone line. "I'm in Providence today, finishing up a trade show. Whatt do you say I drive up tonight and see you?"
Oh, damn.
"1-I-I didn't know you'd be in town so soon," Maria mumbled around a Twinkie.
"Do you have a cold? Your voice sounds funny."
Cream filling dotted her fingertips but Antonio's voice held more power. She grabbed a napkin and swiped it up before it ended up accompanying the pound cake down her esophagus. "No, just, ah, finishing up some ... painting on the walls. The fumes, you know."
"Ah, yes. Well, back to tonight. Do you have any plans?"
She glanced at her refrigerator calendar. On Saturday, she had penciled, "Mary Louise Zipparetto Bachelorette Party at Vita. Avoid at all costs."
"No, not a one. Until you called."
He chuckled. "That's my girl. I'll see you soon." Then he clicked off.
Mary Louise had the determination of a lioness hunting a wild boar. She had left three messages over the past week with the who-what-when-and-where of her
"I'm getting married and you're not" party. Each time, she'd ended with additional begging for Maria to come. Probably wanted to make sure she had a full audience for bragging rights to the biggest diamond in the neighborhood.
"It would be good for you to go. Maybe you'd meet a man," Mamma said Saturday during her daily lunchtime phone call when Maria mentioned Mary Louise's annoying invitational frequency.
"You don't meet men at a bachelorette party, Mamma."
"Cousin Carlotta met her Tony at a party for girls."
"That was a birthday party for a five-year-old and Tony was the hired clown."
"Same thing," Mamma said.
"I'm still not going." Maria stabbed at her salad. Fatfree dressing, a pile of lettuce and a couple of lone cherry tomatoes. It wasn't a lunch. It was plate decor.
But it was better than the Twinkies, which were permanently in the trash. She'd run down to Paulie's Grocery after talking to Antonio and raided the fresh vegetables, narrowly missing an offer of a pity date from Gerry as he put the tomatoes carefully atop the romaine in her paper sack.
"Mary Louise's mamma said the party was going to be at Vita tonight," Mamma said. "Maybe Mary Louise will see Dante there."
"I don't care. I'm not seeing Dante."
But she'd yet to tell Dante that. He called and she didn't call back. He sent flowers, she ignored them. When had she lost her backbone? Why couldn't she just end it'
He had too many ideas about futures and commitments. Those things suited her about as well as anchovies did ice cream.
Still, she didn't want to hurt him. She'd begun to care about him. A lot.
And that was the whole damned problem.
"If you go to the party, you see him." Mamma's logic made perfect sense only to Mamma.
Maria speared a piece of lettuce and ate it, thinking and avoiding an answer. One of these days, she thought, someone would actually create a diet that tasted like it was bad for you.
"Mary Louise, I bet she like Dante. And his cooking," Mamma said.
"She won't eat it. She doesn't eat anything. I saw her grocery cart."
"A girl who isn't busy eating will keep busy another way," Mamma mused.
Maria toyed with a tomato, ignoring the flare of jealousy in her gut. She had no claims over Dante. "She's engaged, Mamma."
"Not married. Yet."
"Like I said, I don't care. Dante isn't my boyfriend."
"No, no, of course he isn't." On the other end of the phone, Maria could hear Mamma rolling out pasta. "But that Mary Louise, she get her teeth in Dante, she not gonna let go."
Maria stabbed at the tomato. It exploded under the force of the fork, squirting red juice everywhere. What if Size Two Mary Louise did wrap Dante around her bony finger?
He'd hate a woman like that-one who didn't eat. Who had all the personality of bad wallpaper and who was only after a starter home and a Volvo. She'd ruin him. And leave the pickings for the vultures.
Why did she care, anyway? Tonight, Antonio was coming into town. She had a date with a gorgeous, no conmitments guy. She didn't need any more complication than that.
The empty feeling returned to her stomach. Damned salad. What she needed was some lasagna to make it taste better.
That's all.
"If you go and Mary Louise see you with Dante, I bet she be so jealous, she eat her ring."
That idea held merit. Making Mary Louise Zipparetto jealous of her for once was something to consider. Antonio was in town. Convenient jealousy fodder.
And if he showed up at Vita, she could take the coward's way out in ending things with Dante. Certainly not the way to be nominated for heroine of the year, but she had yet to come up with a way to tell him she couldn't see him anymore.
Because every time she thought about doing that her cravings for pasta intensified a hundredfold.
"I'll go," Maria said.
"Ah, I knew you would." She could practically see Mamma grinning on the other end. "Mamma is always right. You listen to me about men and soon, there will be babies, too."
Maria hung up the phone before her mother could start picking out colors for a grandchildren-to-come quilt. That was the last thing she needed right now.
Mamma's The-Surprise-Inside Meatballs
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1/3 cup milk
4 tablespoons olive oil
I medium onion, finely chopped
1/2 cup each ground beef, ground pork and ground veal
1 egg, lightly beaten
4 tablespoons freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano
4 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
3 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
24 2-ounce fresh mozzarella balls
Salt and pepper
6 cups marinas sauce
Even Mamma has a few surprises up her sleeve. She's not the boring old Mamma her daughter always thought. First, soak the bread crumbs in the milk for ten minutes. Meanwhile, heat the olive oil and cook the onion for a few minutes, then let cool.
In a lame bowl, combine the meats, soaked bread crumbs, onion, egg, Parmigiano, herbs and salt and pepper, just like they did in the Old Country. Use your hands. Get in there, mix well. Don't be afraid of it. Shape into 1 %inch balls.
Now for the twist of Mamma. Stuff a mozzarella ball into the center of each meatball, making sure none of them peek out and spoill the surprise.
Fry the meatballs in a little more olive oil until browned on all sides. Add the marinara sauce and simmer another ten, fifteen minutes. Serve them to a daughter who thinks she knows her mamma
But really doesn't.
CHAPTER 28
Not only did she need something waterproof this time around, but she also needed to double the Wow lector on her next dress selection. It had to completely wipe out Antonio's memories of their last date and make her desirable again.
Not an easy feat for a piece of material.
Thanks to her three-day eating frenzy, she'd bumped herself back up into the twelve range. That afternoon, phe'd stepped on her scale after getting naked, remov lul{ all jewelry, going to the bathroom and letting out all th
e air in her chest.
The needle gleefully pinged upward again.
Which meant she needed to move upward in the ciothes closet, too.
Maria walked up to Mamma's house and tried the door. Locked. No one home. She checked her watch said remembered it was Early Bird Potluck Bingo night at the Sons of Italy hall. Mamma wouldn't be back until she'd exhausted her red stamper and her pull-tab funds. Nonno had probably been smart enough to head down to the corner bar for a few pops before Nonna dragged him back home and chewed his ear off for getting drunk again.
She unlocked the door with her key and headed up to her old bedroom. At the top of the stairs, the linen closet door was ajar. Maria went to shut it, in case the cat climbed in there and shed all over the towels, and noticed a box sticking out of the top shelf.
Had it always been there? Plain cardboard, it sat there like a lonely Christmas gift, unwanted and unopened.
Maria flicked on the hall light switch to read the writing on the side. Her mother's script, in Italian: Save fnr Maria.
It was probably an early birthday gift. Except Maria' birthday was seven months away and Mamma never shopped early. She was one of those people who seemed to love the scattered rush of last-minute gifting, char ing through the mall like an army commando with no intentions of failing his mission.
She should shut the door. Leave it alone. Let Mamma tell her what it was in her own good time. With Maria's luck, it was probably an entire wedding trousseau.
Except the box was too small. And something about the handwriting seemed ...
Old. Like Mamma had packed that box years ago and set it away, with the intention of giving it to her daughter years down the road.
Maria turned away, shutting the door. But it didnt quite latch. The skinny oak door drifted open again, as if inviting her in.
She hesitated, then continued past the door and went into her old room. It took some searching, but she found a red wrap dress in a forgiving twelve that came in a daring V at the neck. A nice match for the Ferrari. And for her second date with Antonio.
With the dress over her arm, Maria headed out of her room and past the linen closet again. Her gaze went to the box.
Save for Maria.
Save what? Probably Mamma's wedding veil. Or some handkerchief from a great aunt that had been handmade in the Old Country. Or maybe one of those roosters her mother collected, meant for Maria's kitchen someday.
She reached for the door handle. Shut the door. Don't look.
She reached for the box instead. The dress slid to her shoulder, the hanger banging against her back. She slid the cardboard forward, now on her tiptoes. It wasn't a rooster. Too light to be anything ceramic.
She pried back the lid.
Staring back at her was a college degree with Biba I'agliano's name on it. A bachelor's degree in art history from UMass Boston, just a few T stops away on Morrissey Boulevard.
Mamma? In college? After she'd married Papa?
She'd never said a word. Never held a job at a museum. Never even bought a Picasso, not that there'd ever been money for something like that.
The only collection Mamma had was those silly roosters. They'd become her hobby, her only thing outside Maria, the quilting club and bingo.
Maria ran her finger over her mother's name on the degree. She'd never known. Had no idea her mother had any ambitions at all. Instead, she'd always thought Biba had been pouring her own goals into Maria by pushing her to go to college, to finish her own dual degrees in business and marketing.
"Cares? Is that you?" her mother's voice carried up the stairs. "I win the bingo!"
Maria shoved the box back into the closet, shut the door and hurried down the stairs. "Mamma I just stopped by to get a dress." She held up the evidence.
"Ah, another date? With Dante?"
"No. Antonio."
Mamma pursed her lips. "I don't like him. He not treat you right when you know him before."
"Mamma, that was years ago. He's a grown man now."
Mamma wagged a finger at her. "That makes them worse, you know."
Papa came trundling into the house, heading straight for the recliner and the remote. "Mamma won," he told Maria.
"I know. I heard."
"She's the big spender now. She keeps winning like that, I can quit my job." He added a shake of the remote for emphasis.
"And do what?" Mamma said. "Sit around my house and get dusty?" She swatted at him with an imaginary feather duster.
"Keep you happy all day." Papa caught her hand, pulling her into his lap for a loud, dramatic kiss.
Mamma laughed, the sound of it tinkling like wineglasses at a parry. "Oh, you old fool, you already do."
Maria dove for Arnold like a drowning woman after a life preserver. "Arnold, I need help."
She'd stopped by the Chubby Chums meeting before she went over to Vita to face the mother of all temptations. There was nothing she could do about her weight tonight, but she could change the future and get an extra dose of willpower before heading into the restaurant. Arnold had thankfully been outside on the stairs, talking to a new member.
He turned now and beamed at her, giving her a tight one-armed squeeze. A few of the others were milling around, discussing the merits of tofu in meat loaf. "What's up, Chubby Chum Maria?"
"My scale. By about ten pounds in the last week."
He waved a hand at her figure. "Oh, honey, you'd never know it."
Always count on Arnold to be nice. "Lycra is a gift from God."
"Oh, don't I know it." He patted his stretch jeans rump.
She drew him to the side as Bert and Audrey filed in. Bert carried a bag of Burger King contraband that he scooped from regularly as he walked. Audrey was lecturing him about the cholesterol level in a single French fry.
"Listen," Maria said, "I can't seem to stick to my diet no matter what I do. And I really need to. I have this class reunion coming up in a month. I need to lose weight fast. I have to fit my dress."
Arnold wagged a finger at her. "You know what Si ephanie says. If you lose weight for your attire, itt won't improve your inner fire."
"Arnold, I really don't want a platitude. I want some i eal help. Advice. Support. Anything. I'm desperate." Site grabbed the front of his shirt and gave it a little shake. "I ate an entire Sicilian ricotta cake yester day."
"Oh, wow." Arnold blinked. "You have strayed, Chubby Chum."
Maria closed her eyes for a second, releasing Arnold. "More than you know."
"Why are you asking me?"
"Frankly, you're the only normal person in this group."
He laughed and drew her into a second hug, nearly suffocating her this time before releasing her for oxygen. "I don't know about that, but I'll support you if you'll be my Chubby Chum, too. I need a little help getting off my plateau." He patted his stomach. "Right now, it's one big cliff."
"You've got a deal."
"Chubby Chum Maria, you are my rainbow," Arnold said, stepping back to beam at her. "You take my blue and make it into yellow."
Dante's The-Only-Thing-That's-Simple-is the-Fettuccini Alfredo
12 ounces fettuccini
2 tablespoons butter
1 1/4 cups heavy cream
1 cup Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley, for garnish
When everything else is going wrong, cook somethng simple like fettuccini. Anything more complicated, and your brain will go into overload, because it's working so damned hard trying not to think about her.
Cook the pasta in boiling salted water until it's al dente. Meanwhile, melt the butter, add the cream and Parmigiano, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Stir until the cheese has melted and the sauce has thickened. It really doesn't get any more basic than that. Stir in the drained pasta, add the chopped parsley.
Eat the whole damned thing and ignore the thoughts of the woman sitting right outside your kit
chen, breaking your heart with the precision of a ball peen hammer.
CHAPTER 29
Franco's smile of satisfaction would have put a well fed cat to shame. "She returns."
Dante tasted the Alfredo sauce the new line chef had made. Not quite Vita material. Not yet. He scooped in some more Parmigiano Reggiano. Then he sprinkled in a dose of nutmeg and whisked the ingredients into the cream sauce. When Franco didn't elaborate, Dante Iistened to him. "They do better puzzles in the Sunday Globe, Franco. Who do you mean?"
"Maria. Your intended."
His hand stilled for a second like the whisk had a attitter, then went back to work. "She's not intended for anything with me."
She'd made that damned clear. Why had he ever been stupid enough to think differently?
"Then why is she here again?" Franco pointed toward the swinging door that led to the dining room. "And she brought her friends. Maybe to show her prize stallion to the herd?"
The whisk skipped against the pan, spattering Alfredo on his apron. "I am not her stallion."
"Hey, Franco. Did you say there's a whole table of women out there?" Vinny asked.
"All bella donnas, too," Franco said with a nod.
Vinny abandoned his pasta making and dashed over to the swinging doors. "Hey, Boss, come here. You gotta see this."
Only for curiosity's sake, Dante crossed to the oval glass on the kitchen door. He didn't want to see Maria. She was clearly done with him and he was definitely done with her. She'd given him the message-by not returning his calls.
Then why did he peer through the glass, anyway?
"That one with the tiara's quite the looker, huh?" Vinny said.
"Which one?"
"You know, the bride-to-be." Vinny gestured through the window at a woman wearing a rhinestone crown. "Hot as a butane flame, that one."
"I hadn't noticed." Dante supposed, looking at her now, that the woman at the head of the table could be considered pretty. If a man liked his women as shapeless as a stick of angel hair pasta and with a face that had the pinched look of someone who needed a good meal and a good laugh.
Maria, on the other hand
She looked as she had the last time he'd seen her. Like she enjoyed everything. Her life. Her body. Her food. She sat at the other end of the table from the bride, her face animated, full of expression. She laughed at something the blonde woman beside her said and something in his gut reached out, as if he could taste that laughter. Bottle it for later.