Long Island Iced Tina

by Maria DiRico

  Cocktail hour turned into two. Bored with making small talk with strangers, Mia decided to explore Versailles. She began her self-guided tour by checking out the other banquet rooms, most of which opened onto the sumptuous main gallery, much like the rooms at the original Versailles. They were all lovely, but none were as ornate as the two housing the current festivities. It was obvious that Tina Karras had sprung for Versailles’ top-of-the-line package. The only thing Belle View had to offer that Versailles didn’t was its view of Flushing Marina. And LaGuardia Airport. If only we could get LaGuardia to freeze landings and takeoffs during our events, Mia thought with a sigh.

  Having finished checking out the rooms and adjacent gardens, which were perfectly manicured and equally lovely, it was time to take a gander at the kitchen facilities. She watched a waiter, carrying an empty plate of hors d’oeuvres, push open a door hidden in one of the hall’s ornately paneled walls. Mia waited a moment, then followed him inside. She did her best to be unobtrusive as she examined the scene in front of her, which offered a blinding array of brand-new, state-of-the-art stainless-steel equipment. A chef shouted orders at kitchen staffers who were plating lobster, steak, ravioli, and chicken on hundreds of dinner plates. Mia noted Tina’s commitment to Best in Show extended to this extravagant main course.

  “May I help you?”

  Mia jumped. She turned to face a man who appeared to be in his late forties. He was elegantly attired in a black suit tailored to his taut frame. A shock of white stood out in the middle of his slicked-back black hair. The sneer on his face undercut his handsome features. He folded his arms in front of his chest and stared her down. Mia stuffed down her guilt at being caught sneaking around and said in her most officious tone, “Yes, hello. I’m Mia Carina, the assistant general manager of Belle View Banquet Manor. A fellow hospitality executive.”

  She threw in both qualifiers in the hopes they would help legitimize her snooping, then extended her hand. The man responded with the kind of quick shake of someone who feared a virus might be transmitted. “Castor. General Manager.”

  Mia wondered if he went by one name or didn’t think she ranked learning his full name. “I’ve been admiring your facilities,” she said, then piled on the flattery. “Stunning. Everything from the kitchen to the rooms to the service is the ne plus ultra of our business.” She gave herself props for throwing in one of the few phrases she remembered from high school Latin.

  “Merci,” Garvalos responded. Mia bristled at his condescending tone. “I’d give you a personal tour but as you can see, we’re a skosh busy.”

  “Thanks,” Mia responded, adding in a light tone, “It’s nice of you to offer, considering I’m the competition.”

  Castor burst out laughing, then stopped himself. “I’m so sorry. That was incredibly rude. This is no excuse, but I’ve seen Belle View, and . . .”

  Mia glared at him. “And what?”

  A fanfare blared from a trumpet in the Throne Room. “Dinner’s being served,” Castor said. “The salad is a mélange of locally sourced lettuce varieties, artisan buffalo mozzarella, and a drizzle of twenty-five-year-old, barrel-aged balsamic vinegar. You won’t want to miss it.”

  “Balsamic,” Mia said with a sniff as she headed for the door. “That’s so nineteen-nineties.” She pretended not to hear the general manager’s response that the nineteen-nineties was when the rare and expensive balsamic dated from.

  Later, having polished off the to-die-for salad, amuse-bouche, appetizer, and main course, Mia loaded a plate with delicate desserts during the party’s Viennese Hour. She forced herself to pass on the ice cream sundae station and cotton candy machine. Ian, Nicole’s husband, sidled up to her. “All this food. Crazy, huh?”

  Mia chomped down on a custard-filled profiterole and moaned. “Crazy good, much as I hate to admit it. It’s almost midnight. How’s Nicole holding up?”

  “I sent her home two hours ago. Tina didn’t even notice.”

  “No surprise there. At least you don’t have to worry about transporting all the gifts home.” The invitation from Tina warned guests to send baby gifts directly to the parents and not bring anything to the shower.

  “We have a two-bedroom apartment. I had to rent a storage facility for everything from this party alone. I’m grateful but . . .”

  “A little overwhelmed?” Ian gave a vigorous nod.

  Mia patted his hand. “Welcome to the world of Italian and Greek celebrations. You will never go unfed or ungifted, even if a lot of it is just an excuse for someone to make someone else look bad by comparison.”

  The trumpeter sounded another fanfare, startling Mia and Ian. He put down the trumpet and held up a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned, “All hail—”

  “Did he just say, All hail?” Ian whispered.

  “He did indeed,” Mia whispered back.

  “Tina and Ron’s gift—”

  “Hey, she let Ron take some credit,” Mia whispered to Ian.

  “For a change,” he murmured back.

  “For the Karras-Whitman baby!”

  “I didn’t know you were going to use both your names,” Mia whispered.

  “We weren’t.”

  Ian ran his hand through his hair so hard he pulled out a small chunk of it as Versailles staffers wheeled out a portable stage set with a lavish display of nursery furniture. The crowd vigorously clapped while Tina preened and gestured to the furniture like a game show spokesmodel. Mia noticed her husband Ron had the decency to look embarrassed.

  Ian gulped, then pulled out his cell phone. “I have to check the storage facility’s website. We’re gonna need a bigger space.”

  Tina held up a hand to quiet the crowd. “We’re not done.”

  “We’re not?” Ian whispered this to Mia with a terrified look on his face.

  “Please join me outside for”—Tina motioned to the trumpeter, who responded with yet another fanfare—“the gender reveal!”

  “I thought you weren’t going to do a gender reveal,” Mia said as guests trooped by them.

  “We weren’t.” Ian paled. “We don’t even know the baby’s sex. How does she? I’m scared.”

  The two of them joined the throng exiting the banquet hall. Everyone reconvened on a flagstone patio overlooking a pond surrounded by perfectly manicured greenery. The Star Wars theme blasted from speakers disguised as boulders. Ian’s mother whimpered. His father enveloped her in his arms protectively. A yellow display of fireworks suddenly erupted. Confused shower guests muttered to each other. Tina sauntered to the front of the crowd, a mic in her hand. “When Nicole’s doctor said he wouldn’t reveal the sex of a patient’s baby for any amount of money, he wasn’t kidding,” she said in a jocular tone. “So, I give you . . . yellow!” The guests hooted and cheered. Tina threw her arms up in the air and rattled her bracelets. “And now, I give you . . . a rainbow!” Behind her, a multicolored array of fireworks exploded.

  Mia watched the extravagant display in silence. The fireworks, the furniture gift, the high-end party, that array of rainbow bracelets . . . Ron owned a diner in Astoria. Mia knew it did well, but not that well. “Ian,” she asked as a fireworks rainbow burst in the sky and then dribbled down into the pond, signifying the end of the show, “where does Tina get all her money? Because I know it’s not all coming from Ron. If any of it.”

  Ian, who seemed close to tears, gave a helpless shrug. “No idea. She was a flight attendant, and Nicole and I always assumed she retired with a great pension. Now she works from home doing investments. Says she’s a day trader.”

  Mia pursed her lips. “Day trader, huh?” In Mia’s world—or rather, her father’s—“day trader” was the younger goombah generation’s code for No way am I gonna tell you where I’m getting all this money. There was something hinky about Tina’s seemingly endless stream of cash.

  “Don’t leave without your party favor,” Tina called out to her guests, who were starting to disperse. “They’re custom Swiss chocolate ba
by rattles. Solid chocolate, not hollow.”

  “Solid, not hollow,” one partygoer said to another as they hurried back inside to line up for their favor. “Price-ee.”

  Very price-ee, Mia thought to herself. Even for a successful “day trader.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Off-putting as Tina’s over-the-top baby shower had been, the evening proved useful. Mia may have been annoyed by Castor Garvalos’s attitude—she’d found the snooty G.M.’s full name on the Versailles’ website—but by poking around the venue, she’d learned what Belle View was missing. She and her father needed to hire a retail manager, someone whose sole job was to order food and beverage supplies, as well as rental equipment. Currently, those tasks were divided between her, her father Ravello, the ever-elusive Cammie, and even chefs Guadalupe and Evans. A dedicated retail manager would lift the load off everyone.

  When Mia showed up at work the next morning, she couldn’t help comparing Belle View to the grandiosity of Versailles. The upgrades she’d been so proud of only days before now recalled the expression, lipstick on a pig. She tried replacing the thought with a judge-y internal labeling of Versailles as garish and nouveau riche. The tiled floor beneath her feet rumbled and she heard the roar of a jet departing from LaGuardia. Mia watched a tiny crack appear in the brand-new paint job of the wall to her left. The sight made her heart heavy. It confirmed that there was only so much she and her father could do in terms of cosmetic fixes. The facility needed structural work, soundproofing, better plumbing, and a new roof. The bathrooms, currently museums of mid-century Formica finishes, would require gutting. New carpets, drapes, paint . . . the list of repairs and upgrades necessary to turn Belle View into Astoria’s premiere event destination felt longer than a drugstore receipt.

  For a moment, Mia felt overwhelmed by the fear that she wasn’t up to the challenge. Then she flashed on an image from her childhood—her father wearing a prison jumpsuit singing “Happy Birthday” to her in a penitentiary visiting room. She couldn’t recall which prison or which birthday—there had been several “celebrated” this way. Mia fought back fear and summoned up her reserve of inner strength. I can do this, she told herself. Baby steps. And step one was finding a retail manager.

  She was typing the job description into a hiring website form when Ravello appeared in her doorway, having returned from lunch with Donny Boldano, the Boldano Family godfather and her literal godfather. “Hi, Dad. How was Roberto’s?”

  “Eccellente, as always.” Ravello lunched at the popular eatery every weekday. The restaurant rewarded him with a gold nameplate above his booth, in addition to many freebies. “Minniguccia Evangelista was there. She had a special meal made for Donny and me and picked up the tab.”

  “Let me guess. Pasta puttanesca.”

  “How did you know?”

  “She’s sending me a message.” Mia closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, which rolled backward. “Nicole’s shower is this weekend. I love her like a sister, but I can’t wait until it’s over and I get a break from hearing about stepmonsters and puttana.”

  “Capisco. I understand.” Ravello threaded the meaty fingers on his large hands together and cracked his knuckles. “I told Donny about our staffing need and he has someone he wants us to meet.”

  Mia cast a wary eye at her father. “Oh-kay. Does this person have hospitality experience?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What’s his background?”

  Ravello shrugged. “Got me.”

  She stared down her father. “He’s in the Family, isn’t he? Dad, we gotta keep this place clean—”

  “He’s not in the Family.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “He’s in the Tutera Family.”

  Mia rolled back to her desk and slammed down her fists. “What?”

  Ravello held up his hands. “Calm down, bella. He’s a good kid and wants to do his own thing. He’s Vito Tutera’s grandson.”

  “I thought Donny and Vito hated each other.”

  “Donny had kidney stones last week and Vito sent him a get-well basket from the Abruzzo Deli.”

  Mia crooked her mouth. “And in exchange we hire Vito’s grandson who we’ve never met and has no experience to do an important job here? That must’ve been some nice basket.”

  “We want to keep Donny happy. And it wouldn’t hurt to make Vito happy, too.”

  Mia couldn’t argue this point, but she wasn’t happy about it. “Fine. You get to hire him and explain the job. But he doesn’t start until after Nicole’s shower. I don’t need to babysit a newbie on top of everything else that day.”

  Ravello saluted his daughter. “Yes, ma’am.” He started to go, then turned back and asked sheepishly, “How does the new job work again?”

  Mia let out an exasperated sigh. “I explained it to you. A couple of times. But I’ll forward the description I wrote up for the job websites.”

  “Va bene, grazie. I’m sorry, bella. I know I’m off my game.”

  “Is it Lin?” Mia softened. Finally, some years after having his disastrous marriage to her self-centered mother annulled, her father had started dating again. More than dating–he had a steady girlfriend, Lin Yeung. Formerly a prosecutor, Lin now ran a high-end florist shop in Manhattan’s East Village. Not only was she a lovely woman who’d taught Ravello the art of floral design, her proviso for dating him was that he eschew all criminal activity. Mia appreciated that the relationship motivated her father to stay straight.

  “Yeah.” Ravello beamed. “I forgot what it feels like to care so much about someone in a romantic way. You know, get like, heart flutters when you think about them. It’s a good feeling.”

  Mia smiled at her father. “It is.” Her own heart clutched a touch. She wondered; will I ever feel that way again in a relationship? She shook it off. “Go take care of Vito Tutera’s grandson. The teddy bears for Nicole’s shower showed up without their T-shirts on, so I got fifty bears to dress.”

  As opposed to Tina’s extravaganza, which didn’t end until the wee hours of the morn, Nicole’s shower at Belle View was scheduled for a respectable early afternoon slot. Deliverymen traipsed through in the morning, depositing rentals, decorations, and supplies. Mia helped her staff set up for the event, then changed into a summery dress patterned in shades of purple. Since she was doing double duty as guest and host, she opted for comfortable black sandals with a small heel that would make being on her feet less onerous. She joined Guadalupe in the kitchen to give the food a once-over. Nicole had asked for a tea party theme, so Mia rented enough three-tiered serving stands to provide guests with a generous selection of finger sandwiches. Along with . . .

  “If you ask me,” Guadalupe, Belle View’s chef, said as she surveyed the spread on the long kitchen prep table, “those big bowls of pasta puttanesca next to the girly sandwiches look nuts.” The tall, robust woman, formerly an Army cook in Iraq, wasn’t one to mince words.

  “That pasta tastes good, though. Nice blend of flavors.” This came from Evans, who was focused on decorating the cake he’d designed for the party. It was in the shape of a baby carriage, but rather than place a baby inside, Evans had created a question mark out of vanilla cake, a clever nod to the unknown gender of the Whitmans’ incoming progeny.

  “The guests are all family and friends,” Mia said. “They’ll assume the puttanesca is a nod to Nicole’s heritage on her Italian mother’s side. Love the cake, Evans.”

  Evans responded with his usual monosyllabic grunt, but Mia thought she caught a glimmer of a smile.

  Cammie, who was also a guest-slash-hostess—with the emphasis on “guest”—pushed open the swinging door and stuck her head in. “The first guests clocked in. Speaking of which, a reminder that I’m clocking out before cleanup.” She held up her hands, showing off fingernails that glistened with frosty pink polish. “Fresh manicure. No thanks to the hours at this hellhole.” She winked at Mia. “And by hellhole, I mean the best job I will ever, ever h
ave.”

  “Hoo-ah!” Guadalupe clapped her hands together and barked at everyone like the Army cook she’d once been, “Let’s do this, people!”

  The first hour of the shower ran more smoothly than Mia could have dreamed possible. It was a beautiful summer day, which made for a perfect view through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of boats gently bobbing in Flushing Marina. Even the airport seemed to cooperate. Being that it was the weekend, there were fewer flights to rumble Belle View’s walls. With distance from the forced grandeur of Versailles, Mia could enjoy the merits of her homey banquet hall.

  The room filled with warm, happy chatter. Cardboard ducks dangled from yellow crepe paper strung across the room. The gift table wobbled under the weight of presents from Nicole and Ian’s loved ones, to the point where Mia texted Ian that he better ratchet up the size of his storage facility yet again. Elisabetta, clad in a simple navy dress instead of her requisite tracksuit, gossiped with the senior friend group surrounding great-grandma-to-be Minniguccia, who had jazzed up her walker by wrapping crepe paper around the legs and dangling a row of plastic rattles from the handles. Mia hung with Nicole’s crew. Much to her chagrin and embarrassment, she discovered that even women she was meeting for the first time knew the story of her philandering hubby, Adam. Everyone had someone they wanted to set her up with, including a lesbian friend of Nicole’s cousin Sophie. “If that’s what you’re into,” Sophie hastened to add.

  “It’s what I’m into,” said Justine Cadeau, a stylish thirtysomething art gallery owner.

  Touched by the concern for her moribund social life but tired of deflecting the invitations, Mia encouraged Sophie and Justine to exchange contact information, and grabbed the chance to move on. She gravitated toward Nicole’s mother, Linda, who kissed her on both cheeks and then hugged her. “It’s a beautiful party, sweetheart,” Linda said. She was a petite woman who shared the olive coloring of her Italian heritage with her daughter. Linda had curly hair she wore in a short cut that accentuated delicate gamine features. It wasn’t unusual for people to mistake her and Nicole for sisters.