Chapter 7
Angie found all the fixings for a simple pasta with red sauce and garlic bread while Gina took a shower. She poured them each a glass of Vinnie’s favorite Italian red wine and brought the plates out.
Gina appeared at the kitchen door. “Nothing smells as wonderful as garlic cooking. I hope I can cook as well as you do someday.”
“I know you’ve got it in you, honey. Will you take these plates to the table? I’ve already set it.”
Gina did as Angie asked, then sat down and waited for her aunt to join her. “Can you believe Bill Murray came to Murphy’s to share his condolences for Uncle Vinnie? I had no idea they were even friends. Did you?”
Angie brought the basket of garlic bread in and sat down.
“We have photos of the two of them. Vinnie would tell me Bill talked sports with him, but I figured that was when he went to the fancy sports dinners or fundraisers. I didn’t know they met after the games and rehashed every inning, but I was always already home in bed by then.
” She took a sip of wine. “Bill Murray … I loved him when I watched the reruns of him on SNL with Gilda Radner, way before your, and even my, time. And his movies make me laugh out loud no matter how many times I see them. How about Stripes?”
Angie raised her wineglass and said, “Mangiamo.”
“Salute,” Gina said, clinking her glass against Angie’s. “I loved Stripes too.”
As Angie remembered the time she and Vinnie had watched the movie together and belly-laughed through whole movie, the floodgates opened and tears began streaming down her cheeks.
Gina got up and put her arms around Angie. “I’m going to miss him too. Crying is a good thing—let it out.”
Angie let herself cry; Gina’s embrace brought her comfort. After Angie collected herself, Gina sat down and they ate in silence for a bit.
“Let’s talk about your ideas for your catering company. What are you thinking in terms of recipes?”
Gina finished her wine and refilled her glass and topped off Angie’s, then said, “Promise me you won’t laugh or judge me.”
“I promise, honey. We all have to start somewhere.”
“A friend of mine gave me this cookbook that her grandma Mindy gave her; it was a fundraiser for the Arthritis Foundation. The title is Scratch? My Ass! Store-Bought Can Be as Good as Homemade. It’s a collection of easy recipes introduced by these two women called Ethel and Blanche,” Gina said.
She turned to the first page and started to read the introduction to her aunt.
“Meet Ethel and Blanche. Many of you may wonder where Ethel and Blanche came from. We started out in the world’s oldest profession.
But as Father Time and Mother Nature came around the mountain (wearing crepe soles, the little sneaks!), we decided to semi-retire before we had to begin paying our clients what they were paying us! ”
“This sounds spicy.” Angie chuckled and thumbed through the cookbook. “Very clever and fun for sure. I’ll have to read the rest of this later.”
“I never thought of myself as a cook, but when I started using these recipes and bringing food to parties, people were impressed. It’s my go-to.” Gina paused to take a bite of garlic bread. “Your garlic bread is always so crunchy and buttery. How do you get it that way?”
“I have my secrets, and you’ll learn every one of them. Trick is to grate some fresh Parmigiano Reggiano on top after you’ve baked the bread, then stick it under the broiler for just a few minutes. Now tell me more about this cookbook you use,” Angie said.
“The concept is why go to all the bother of making a dish from scratch when you can go to Jewel or a bakery, get what you want, and just transfer it into a nice bowl or platter and decorate it with a few simple items.”
Angie squinted her eyes and tried to get Gina to look her straight in the eye to see if she was serious. “Can you give me an example of a dish you prepared from this cookbook?”
“Oh yeah!” Gina grinned. “I bought the potato salad from Jewel, put it in my mom’s fancy ceramic bowl, cut up some parsley and sprinkled it around the edge, sliced some hard-boiled eggs, sprinkled paprika on the top, and bingo! The heads turned when I set the bowl down at the Holy Communion party.”
Angie smiled. “And no one noticed?”
“Nope. Several of the wives and even one husband asked me for my recipe. Case closed.”
Angie’s laugh made Gina start to laugh too. “What a brilliant idea! I just wish I thought of that when I was working at La Scarola. After closing, they always offered me food to take home, but I never did. I could have transferred it to a dish and been the hit of the next church potluck.”
Gina nodded and said, “Once I figured out this trick, I was a big hit at all the parties. The best part was I didn’t get nervous worrying about what I was going to make. You know, not everyone can cook.” Gina took another bite of her pasta.
“My first husband had to have three square meals a day, so I had to learn fast after I married him. But your uncle Vinnie loved to go out to eat; he didn’t want me to slave away in the kitchen.
I always made a nice Sunday supper; besides breakfast, that was the only regular homemade meal we had.
He spoiled me rotten.” Angie sighed. “I can’t believe he’s gone. ”
Gina leaned over and put her hand on her aunt’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Angie.”
Angie took the tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose.
“I don’t think I know how you and Uncle Vinnie actually met.”
“Well, refill that wineglass, and let’s get started on that story. You’ll love it.” Angie cleared their plates and sat back down.
Angie took another sip of wine and then asked, “You know the Rosebud?”
“Absolutely, the one in Little Italy. There was something on the news about how the owner, Alex Dana, opened up a small lunch counter before he opened Rosebud back in the seventies, and now he has restaurants all over the Chicago area,” Gina said.
“Alex took me under his wing and gave me a job after my first husband threw me out. I had never waitressed before, and he trained me like no other. I worked there for almost fifteen years, and that’s where it all started. I was working a private party in the west room.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you were a waitress that long. I bet you saw and heard things.” Gina raised her eyebrows.
“The unspoken rule of waitressing in any good Italian restaurant in Chicago, you don’t see anything, you don’t hear anything, you don’t know anything.
I found out after I left that the manager would send a person into the bar a couple days after the private parties to see if they could pry any info from the waitresses or the bartender.
If you kept your mouth shut, you were good.
Anyway, it was the holiday party for the managers who worked at the City of Chicago, and a few contractors who did a lot of business with the city.
Very fancy hors d’oeuvres, open bar, and they could order anything they wanted on the menu rather than eat family style. ”
“Whenever I go to a holiday party with an open bar, I take full advantage,” Gina said.
“When the City of Chicago hosts a holiday party, it goes big! Top-of-the-line booze, and price is no object. When I worked those holiday parties, I didn’t get home until after three in the morning.”
“I bet you fell into bed,” Gina declared.
“I usually had a nightcap with the waitstaff, and the manager always paid for our cabs so we got home safe. I loved it. And the tips were huge. After working several private parties, I made enough to take a trip to Vegas.”
“Sounds like it was a ball. But you still haven’t told me how you met Uncle Vinnie.” Gina refilled their wineglasses.
“I was working hard to pay all my bills, never got a dime from my first husband. Worked the lunch shift and then the private parties. I was carrying a tray with dishes of meatballs in red sauce. This guy was holding court with a group, all eyes on him as they listened. I went to walk around him. He was waving his arms, he didn’t see me, and he hit my arm with his hand.
The dishes flew up in the air; the sauce and everything got all over him, me, and everyone nearby—it was a sauce shower.
One lady had on white linen. I’ll never forget the look on her face.
There was a loud crash, and the busboys rushed over and started cleaning everything up.
Everyone in the room turned toward us and let out a gasp.
I started to cry because I knew I was going to get fired. ” Angie took a sip of wine.
“Oh my God, what did Uncle Vinnie say? I bet he was wearing his dark blue tailored Italian suit,” Gina said.
“I couldn’t have told you what he was wearing; he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and, instead of wiping the red sauce off his face, he handed it to me. I took it, wiped the sauce off my face and neck, and kept crying. The manager was there apologizing up and down.”
“That Uncle Vinnie, he was a gentleman for sure. That’s one of the things I most admired about him. He even opened the car door for me when I was little,” Gina said.
Angie shook her head. “They just don’t make them that way anymore. He made the manager get me a chair and he sat next to me. I just wanted to curl up in the corner and die. The lady with the white linen suit stormed out while everyone else was sitting down eating the first course.”
“I can’t even imagine how you must have felt,” Gina said.
“I went to the bathroom and washed up best I could. The sauce was everywhere, including inside my bra. When I got home, I found it in my ears, hair; this had never ever happened to me.”
“What happened next?” Gina leaned in.
“You have anything stronger to drink?” Angie asked as she finished her wine.
Angie watched Gina look up as if the answer was on the ceiling. “I do. I keep a bottle of Seagram’s VO for Uncle Vinnie when he stops by … stopped by.”
“Sounds perfect. Let’s go sit in the living room.” Angie stood up and helped Gina take the wineglasses into the kitchen.
Angie went into the small living room and saw that her cell phone was dinging and decided to turn it off. Whoever or whatever it is can wait, she thought to herself, and sat on the couch.
Gina came in with the VO and two glasses, poured the liquor, handed one to Angie, then sat down next to her. “Salute!”
Angie took a long sip; the rich liquid warmed her throat. “Your uncle and I would sip this at night sometimes.”
Angie watched Gina take a little sip and continued her story.
“So, I’m in the restaurant bathroom talking to myself out loud: ‘Everything will be okay. You’ll find another job.
It’s not the end of the world.’ I splashed water on my face and looked in the mirror and saw my mascara was all over the place.
I looked like Bette Davis from the movie What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? without the white powder on my face.”
Gina laughed. “Yikes, that’s a scary look for sure.”
“I took some of the soap and toilet paper, scrubbed it off, and of course, I got soap in my eyes, which burned. Finally, I was ready to walk right out the front door and catch a cab. I walked out the bathroom door, and there was Vinnie—waiting for me. I was horrified. His fancy suit and white pressed shirt were stained with red sauce; there was still some in his hair.”
Angie took a deep breath as if she was reliving the entire event, and then they each took a sip of their brandy.
“He stood right in my way. I looked at him and told him I was so very sorry, that I had to leave immediately, and headed toward the door.”
“I can’t even image how embarrassed you must have been,” Gina declared.
“I was never so humiliated. I started to cry again and walked around him. But he wouldn’t let me pass.
He lifted my chin and said, ‘Angie, don’t worry about any of this; it was my fault for throwing my arms up in the air, not yours.
I made that clear to your manager, and I called my friend who owns La Scarola, and he has an opening.
So don’t give that manager a second thought.
You’re a good waitress; a pretty lady like you shouldn’t be crying. Let me buy you a drink.’”
“What did you do?” Gina asked.
“I just stood there and looked at him. He was so kind and handsome. He led me to a booth in the back. I said, ‘I don’t even know your name. I should be buying you a drink for all the trouble I caused.’
“Then he leaned over and touched my hand and said, ‘Oh, I have a feeling you’ll be buying me more than a drink. I think we’ll be spending lots of time together.
’ I got goose bumps all over, and I knew I had met the one.
” Angie felt the edges of her mouth reach for her ears. “It was a crazy, magical moment.”
She watched Gina gazing at her. “That is the silliest, most romantic story I’ve heard in a long time.”
“Enough about me. Let’s talk about how we can make you the best caterer in the funeral business. Let’s get in our pajamas, have another nightcap, and brainstorm.”
“I would love that!” Gina said and made her way to her bedroom.
Angie reached for her cell. When she turned it on, there were eight new voicemails, five of them from Beatrice, two from Mario, and one from a number she didn’t recognize.
She went into Gina’s bathroom and put on a pair of Gina’s pajamas.
Thankfully, Gina wore loose ones so they fit fine—a little long, but good around her tummy.
She started to listen to one of her voicemails. “Hi, Angie, this is Ralph; I saw you at Vinnie’s funeral. Would you please call me as soon as you get this message? I want to make sure you’re safe and find out where you’re staying.” Why is he worried about my safety? she wondered.
She turned the phone off again and went into the living room where Gina had a big down comforter on the couch. Gina patted the place right next to her.
“Come on over, get warm, and let’s talk about my catering company. You know how it’s exclusively for funeral parlors?” Gina asked, and Angie nodded. “Well, Kim and I have decided on the name. What do you think about ‘Last Bite’?”