The Devil Served Tortellini

by Shirley Jump

  "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 iii 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 dial with. You want some Rico Suave guy who's going to treat you like shit and then dump you for someone rlse."

  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 rico
tta 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. t Ise your muscles or ask your big strong man to use his.

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

  Put a teaspoon of the filling on your pasta, two inches ul iart. 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.

  CHAPTER 31

  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 nowhereand snatch the Lillian Vernon personalized faux leather handbag.

  "1 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 too 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, cares," 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, cares. 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 Hanover 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.

  Mamma took one of the blank-faced white roosters off the shelf and put it into Maria's hand. She tipped her chin, indicating the six-inch bird. "How much you think that's worth?"

  Maria tried really hard not to wrinkle up her nose at the ugly porcelain farm alarm. "Uh, ten bucks?"

  "Madonn!" Mamma threw up her hands. "On eBay, this one is two thousand, five hundred dollars."

  "eBay?" Maria shook her head. Had she heard her mother right? "Since when do you know about eBay?"

  "You think I live in a can of Franco American? I know more than you think."

  Maria's gaze dropped to the rooster in her hands. "He's worth over two thousand dollars?"

  Mamma nodded, beaming. "That one there," She pointed to a multicolored rooster sitting on the shelf shove the stove. "Seven hundred. And that one over by the window, nine hundred."

  "Your roosters are worth that much money?"

  "How you think you go to college? Papa and I gave you that money. Where you think it come from?"

  At eighteen, she'd never thought about the ten thousand dollar check her mother had handed her at graduation. She did remember being glad a few roosters were missing from the kitchen and vaguely thinking something about some sucker at a garage sale getting them all.

  And now it turned out they were priceless art?

  She knew who the sucker was. And it wasn't Mamma. It was her daughter.

  'How do you know these roosters are valuable?"

  "I have the degree. I know you see the box in the upstairs closet the other day. And you wonder, why my mamma have that degree and never do anything? Well. I do something."

  "But ... roosters?"

  Mamma shrugged. "I like roosters. That Picasso, was crazy. You put crazy man's art in your house, you go crazy, too."

  Maria leaned back in her chair. "I never knew."

  "You think I only some married woman. Not so happy, huh?"

  "I never said-"

  "You not have to. I see it in your face." Mamma swallowed and toyed with the rooster dish towel on the stove. "This is why you think marriage is so bad. You not want to be like your mamma."

  She'd never realized that all her protests against marriage would hurt her mother-not because they'd put off Mamma's hopes for grandchildren-but because it made it seem like her mother's life wasn't good enough. Wasn't something to be proud of. To emulate.

  Maria had been wrong. Blind and wrong. She'd seen her mother through traditional eyes, never taking off the blinders and seeing her mamma was a woman why had it all.

  "Oh, Mamma," Maria said. "There's more to it that; I didn't want to depend on a man who'd just hurt me in the end. I wanted to take care of myself."

  "You can do both, cares." Mamma took the rooster out of Maria's hands and put it back on the shelf. "I take care of myself. And my family. And Papa, he takes care of me here." She pressed a hand over her heart.

  Maria got to her feet and crossed to her mother, taking her hands, her eyes misting. She looked at the face that was so like her own, but older and definitely wiser. "You did do that. And you surprised me."

  "Mammas do that sometimes." She smiled, her eyes misty, too.

  For a long moment, the two of them stood there, looking at each other with teary eyes, speaking the silent language of mother and daughter.

  Tears stung at the back of Maria's throat. She drew her mother into a t
ight hug. Mamma's warm arms encircled her daughter back. And with that, the break between them was repaired.

  "Are all these roosters valuable?" Maria said, when they finally drew apart.

  Mamma laughed, catching a stray tear with the back of her hand. "No. Some I buy because I like the way they smile at me."

  "Mamma, roosters don't smile."

  "Mine do." Mamma patted the head of the white one mr the shelf. "They make me happy."

  "And rich."

  "No, not rich. just... comfortable. I don't need much."

  "All these years, you never said anything."

  "Why? This was mine. Papa doesn't care." She cupped Maria's chin. "You can marry and still have you."

  Maria grinned. "Do I have to collect chickens?"

  Mamma laughed. "Not chickens. They worth nothing. They not have the pride roosters have."

  Maria shook her head, chuckling. "It's always the men."

  Mamma nodded. "They are good to keep."

  "And to sell."

  "Papa, I won't sell him."

  "Why not?"

  Mamma grinned. "No category on eBay for used husbands."

  After a week, it became clear that Vita was no longer the top dog in the restaurant kennel. The phone had fallen silent, with only the regulars continuing to show up. The two new line chefs were hired away, along with two of the new waitresses, leaving Dante

  About where he'd started before George Whitman's magic fairy pen had gifted his restaurant with a few weeks of success.

  "Boss, this place is falling apart," Rochelle said. She piled the dirty dishes by the dishwasher and then put the empty tray on the counter.

  It had to be a metaphor for his life. The restaurant was going down the tubes and he was unable to rescue it. Maria didn't want him and he couldn't rescue that, either.

  "Did the faucet go in the ladies' room again? I swear, that plumber-"

  "No, I don't mean the building. I mean Vita itself. Everybody's complaining. No one's getting their work done. Vinny's slow as a turtle on quaaludes getting my orders together. Even Franco isn't his usual cheery self."

  Dante sighed and rubbed out the kink in the back of his neck. "I'll talk to them."

  "It isn't going to do any good." Rochelle straightened her order pad and pen in her pocket. "Face it. We got lucky once. Vita is never going to be in the `Top of the Hub' category. Fate is too busy with other restaurants to bother with this one."