Chapter 4 Santino #2
"Just one! I just want to taste it. See if it's as good as everyone says. I swear, only one bite because I’m on a diet."
It seems harmless enough. "Sure."
I cut a piece and hand her my fork. She takes it, puts it in her mouth, and her eyes actually roll back.
"Oh my god," she moans. "That's incredible."
Then, before I can process what's happening, she cuts off a chunk of her lettuce and deposits it on my plate.
I stare at it. "What are you doing?"
"Trading!" She says it like it's obvious. "You gave me steak, I give you lettuce. Fair is fair!"
"That's not—" I stop. "You know what? Fine."
She goes back to her salad. I go back to my steak. Everything's fine. For about two minutes.
"Can I have another bite?" she asks. “I’m sorry, but it’s so good.”
"Another one?"
"Only one more! I promise. Then I'll stop."
I cut another piece. Hand it over. She eats it with the same appreciation, then immediately cuts another chunk of lettuce and plops it onto my plate.
"There! Even trade."
My plate now has two pieces of plain lettuce sitting next to my steak and vegetables. This is insane.
"You don't have to—"
"Oh, but I do!" She's very serious about this. "I can't just take without giving something back. That would be rude. I’m a giver, not a taker. Everyone says so. Please let me share."
I'm starting to realize the lettuce situation is going to get worse. I take another bite. She watches. Then launches into a story.
"So, I've been watching this show? The Bachelor spin-off? And oh my God, you won't believe what happened in last night's episode."
"Liana—"
"There's this girl, Brittany, and she's been fighting with Madison since week two, right? And Madison is totally there for the wrong reasons, everyone can see it, but the lead, Tyler, he's completely blind to it." She pauses to ask, "Can I have one more bite?"
Before I can answer, she's already reaching for my fork. Takes a substantial piece of steak. Chews it while continuing her story.
"So anyway, Brittany decides she's going to tell Tyler about Madison, but then Jenna gets involved—oh, hold on."
She cuts off another hunk of lettuce. Puts it on my plate. I now have a small pile of plain lettuce next to my diminishing steak.
"Where was I? Oh right, so Jenna tells Madison that Brittany's planning to snitch, and Madison goes nuclear. Like, full meltdown. Crying, mascara everywhere, the whole thing."
"That sounds—" I try to interrupt.
"And then," she takes another bite of my steak without asking this time, "Tyler walks in during the fight and asks what's going on, and Madison lies! She says Brittany attacked her for no reason!"
More lettuce appears on my plate.
This pattern continues. She talks. She takes bites of my steak, increasingly larger bites. She deposits lettuce on my plate like she's paying rent. And the story keeps going.
"In the end, Tyler believes Madison, and Brittany gets sent home, and I'm just sitting there screaming at the TV because it's so obvious Madison is manipulating him, but does he see it? No. Men never see it. Never."
She looks at my plate. At what's left of my steak. Which is maybe three bites.
"Oh my God, did I eat too much? I'm so sorry!"
I look down at my plate. At the mountain of plain lettuce she's carefully arranged next to the bones of what used to be my dinner.
"It's fine," I lie.
"Are you sure? Because I gave you all that lettuce. That's, like, a whole salad right there."
It's not a salad. It's a pile of raw lettuce. But I don't have the energy to argue.
Other diners are watching now. An older couple at the next table is trying not to laugh.
A waiter passes by and does a double-take at the lettuce mountain on my plate.
By the time the waiter comes to clear our plates, he stares at mine.
At the lettuce mountain. At the empty space where steak used to be.
"Dessert?" he asks carefully, eyeing my plate with what might be sympathy.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly eat dessert," Liana says immediately, putting her hand on her stomach. "I'm so full. But you know what? You should get the tiramisu! You barely ate anything!"
"I barely ate because—"
"One tiramisu, please," she tells the waiter. "For him. We’re getting married soon and I need to fatten him up."
The waiter looks at me and I nod. I'm too tired to fight it.
The tiramisu arrives. I reach for my fork. Liana's fork gets there first.
"I just want to try it." She takes a bite. "Mmm. Okay, that's amazing."
Then she takes another bite.
And another.
I watch in stunned silence as she eats the entire tiramisu. The one she ordered for me. The one she claimed she was too full to eat herself.
"That was delicious." She sets down her fork, satisfied. "You should try their chocolate cake. I bet it's incredible. I read all about it online in between trying on my dresses tonight."
"I'm not—"
"One chocolate cake," she tells the passing waiter.
It arrives. She eats it. All of it.
"Oh, and their panna cotta? Everyone raves about it. You should try it. We might not get another chance to come back."
The panna cotta arrives. Gone in minutes.
"I heard the cannoli here are life-changing."
Four desserts. She's eaten four complete desserts after eating my entire steak and claiming to be on a diet.
The waiter brings the check and my after-dinner cognac. I ordered it out of desperation, needing something to take the edge off this surreal experience.
I take a sip to settle my nerves. Liana reaches over and takes the glass right out of my hand.
"Ooh, what is this?" She sips it. "Oh, that's nice. Smooth."
She takes another sip.
"Is this cognac? Papa drinks cognac. I never really got the appeal before but this is actually really good."
Another sip.
She's still talking about the reality show, something about a rose ceremony and someone named Chad who's definitely getting eliminated next week, while casually drinking my hundred-euro cognac like it’s water.
By the time she sets the glass down, it's half empty.
"Anyway," she says brightly, "that's what I've been watching! What about you? Do you watch any shows? I can’t wait to show you all my favorites."
I stare at her. At the empty dessert plates. At my half-empty cognac glass. At the pile of lettuce still sitting on my plate like a monument to this disaster.
"No," I manage. "I don't watch television shows."
"Oh, you should! They're so fun. Really helps you unwind, you know?"
The waiter returns with the check. Four hundred and seventy-three euros.
For a meal I didn't eat.
While listening to a plot summary of a reality show I'll never watch.
And receiving a plate full of plain lettuce in exchange for a twenty-four-ounce steak.
"This was amazing," Liana says as we stand to leave. "Thank you so much for dinner!"
I pay the check in a daze. The drive back to her place is quiet. She's still chattering about the restaurant, about how amazing the food was, about how she can't wait to come back.
I'm trying to process what just happened.
Did she really trade lettuce for steak? Did she really order dessert for me and then eat all of it herself? Did she really drink half my cognac while explaining a reality show plot?
I can't tell if she's completely clueless or if something else is going on. No. She can't be doing this on purpose. Nobody's that good of an actress.
I pull up to the Costa estate. Walk her to the door because I'm not a complete asshole, even if I am starving and slightly drunk from the cognac she left me.
"Thank you for dinner!" She kisses my cheek. "You're so sweet for taking me to such a nice place."
"You're welcome," I manage.
"Same time tomorrow?" She's already opening the door. "Or no, wait, tomorrow's your mom's dinner. Okay. I'll see you then! I can’t wait to spend more time with your family."
The door closes in my face. I stand there for a solid thirty seconds, trying to figure out what just happened. My stomach growls. Loudly.
I just spent four hundred and seventy-three dollars on dinner and I'm starving.
I drive away from the Costa estate, heading toward home, but halfway there my stomach growls again. I can't make it. I need food. Now.
I spot a burger place up ahead. One of those cheap drive-thrus with the bright lights and the speaker box. The kind of place I haven't been to since I was a teenager.
I pull in, then immediately regret it. What if someone sees me? Santino Marcello, underboss of the Marcello family, future Don of the combined Costa-Marcello empire, eating fast food in his car like some kind of—
My stomach growls again.
Fuck it.
I pull my collar up. Slide my sunglasses on even though it's dark. Hunker down slightly in my seat as I roll up to the speaker.
"Welcome, can I take your order?"
"Double cheeseburger. Large fries. Chocolate shake." I keep my voice low.
"Anything else?"
"Another double cheeseburger."
Silence from the speaker. "Two double cheeseburgers, large fries, and a shake?"
"Yes."
"Pull forward."
I inch the car forward, checking my mirrors. The last thing I need is someone from my crew driving by. Or worse, someone from her family.
At the window, a teenager takes my card. Hands me the bag. Doesn't even look at my face.
Thank fuck.
I pull into the far corner of the parking lot, away from the lights. Kill the engine. Open the bag. The smell of grease and salt hits me, and I don't even care that this is the most undignified moment of my life. I'm too hungry.
I devour the first burger in maybe four bites. Start on the fries. They're hot and salty and absolutely perfect.
This is what I've been reduced to. Hiding in a parking lot, eating cheap burgers in my car, after spending a small fortune on a meal I didn't get to eat.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Liana.
Liana: Thank you again for tonight! Sweet dreams!
She ends with a kiss symbol.
I stare at the message. At the kiss symbol. At the cheerful gratitude for a dinner she ate. I look at the half-eaten burger in my hand. At the grease on my fingers. At my reflection in the rearview mirror, sunglasses still on in the dark parking lot like some kind of paranoid criminal.
This is my life now.
I take another bite of the burger.
Thirty-eight days.
I finish eating in silence, watching the occasional car pull through the drive-thru. Normal people. Living normal lives. Not hiding from their own crew while eating burgers after their fiancée stole their dinner.
When I'm done, I wipe my hands on the napkins, shove the trash in the bag, and start the car.
Tomorrow is dinner at my mother's house. With my entire family including my grandmother.
Surely that will go better.
It has to go better.
Doesn't it?