Belonging (28 page)

“We’ll have each other,” I told her.
“As long as no one knows we’re there, it’ll be fine. And if they
discover us, we’ll just pack up and move somewhere else. Besides,
you guys are just a phone call away if we need
anything.”

She mulled that over, then said,
“Yeah, okay. But before you go, we’re gonna all sit down to a nice
family lunch. I’ve barely gotten to know your sweetie.” Nana’s face
lit up and she said, “I just got a real hum-dinger of an idea. Zan
can cook the meal with me, and we’ll film it for my cable TV show.
I never had one of them, you know, guest stars before. Plus, this
way I can show him how to make some of your favorite foods,
Johnnie, so he knows how to take care of you properly.”

I grinned at that, but said, “I don’t
know, Nana. I don’t think Zan’s comfortable in front of the camera
these days.”

“Anything for Nana,” he said. “I’d
love to learn how to cook for you, Gianni, and if a camera’s
rolling while we do that, all the better. Then I can watch the tape
later and recall the recipes.”

Nana clapped her hands together and
exclaimed, “Let’s get cooking!”

*****

Fifteen minutes later, Jessie was
manning the camera, the lights were up, and the kitchen island was
covered with ingredients. “Here you go, Zan,” Nana said, handing
him an apron. “Put this on. We’re gonna be making ravioli and it
could get messy.” She looked around and asked, “Where’s Tom
Selleck? I want to make sure he doesn’t go nuts this
time.”

“I have him, Nana,” Jessie said. “His
leash is around my ankle so he won’t be able to get
away.”

“I bet the dog knocks Jessie over and
drags him around the kitchen,” Skye told us. “Jessie will probably
keep filming erratically the entire time, and that footage will
make it on the air.” Skye was sitting at the kitchen table with
Dare, Shea, Christian and me. Since filming the show rarely went
off without a hitch, we’d been trying to predict the upcoming
catastrophe.

“Oh, that’s totally a given,” Shea
told him.

“I don’t think anything has exploded
on Nana’s show yet,” Christian said. “Maybe that’ll happen this
time. Is she planning to deploy a pressure cooker? If so, we should
all put on raincoats.”

Across the room, Zan had
pulled the black apron over his head, which was imprinted in white
with
I like big buns and I cannot
lie
, above a line drawing of a large
cinnamon roll. I chuckled and said, “Classic.” Nana donned an
apron, too. Hers was red and said:
this
recipe did not call for your opinion.

Nana ordered Zan around for a couple
minutes, having him move a big cutting board onto the island, then
her bulky pasta machine. My grandmother looked around and told
Jessie, “I think we’re ready to roll, but why do I feel like I’m
forgetting something?”

“Did you want Gianni on camera, too,
since he’s the one Zan’s cooking for?” Jessie chimed in.

“Great idea!” Nana exclaimed while I
slumped down in my seat with a sigh. “Johnnie, get your ass up here
and put on an apron.”

On the way past him, I shot Jessie a
look and he smiled broadly and said, “You’re welcome.”

Nana tried to hand me an apron that
was printed to look like a body builder wearing skimpy speedos, but
I said, “Um, no,” and took it with me as I went to look in the
closet. I knew she had some normal options somewhere, but all I
found was her novelty apron collection.

“Hurry up, Johnnie, we need
to get this show on the road!” Nana yelled. I ended up grabbing a
green and white striped apron that said:
Kiss French, Ride Italian
. I
wondered where the hell Nana had found that, and if she got the
innuendo. It was always hard to tell with her. She pretended to be
innocent, but I suspected we’d all be shocked if we could read her
mind.

Zan broke into a huge smile when he
saw the apron. He slipped his arm around my waist, pulled me close
and whispered in my ear, “That’s an excellent suggestion.” I
grinned as he kissed my cheek and nuzzled my ear.

“Focus, boys!” Nana exclaimed.
“Jessie’s already running the camera and we got ravioli to make.
We’re starting with the pasta. This part’s gonna get messy.” Zan
and I both stepped back as she dumped half a bag of flour onto the
cutting board and a cloud rose into the air.

“Do you want to introduce your guests,
Nana, and tell your audience what you’ll be making?” Jessie
prompted.

“What? Oh, right. Today we’re making
cheese ravioli. That’s Zan Tillane, but why am I telling you that?
Everyone knows who he is. I guess everyone knows my grandson
Johnnie now too, on account of them making out at the airport. Say
hi, boys.” We did as we were told while Nana set the flour aside
and reached for a carton of eggs. She said, “Go ahead and stick
your fingers in that mound, Zan. You need a nice big hole. You have
a lot to fit in there, so go ahead and open it up.”

“Dear lord, what are we talking
about?” Zan stammered, totally dropping his composure.

I chuckled and used my hand to make a
well in the center of the flour. “Your mind is absolutely filthy,”
I told him.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not just me,
love,” he said with a grin.

After the eggs and some oil were
incorporated, Nana tried to show Zan how to knead the dough,
climbing up on a step-stool beside him and working his hands like
they were her puppets. “Work it real good, Zan,” she said. “Don’t
be afraid to wrap your hand around it and really squeeze it. Now
work it! Up and down, up and down.” Zan shot me a look and I just
smiled.

Next, she set up her automatic pasta
roller and showed him how to feed the dough through. While he was
doing that, she had me start on the filling, but then a loud knock
on the door startled all of us, including the dog, who barked and
lunged forward. Jessie’s legs were pulled right out from under him
and he landed flat on his back with an, “Oof!”

“Told you,” Skye said as he jumped up
to give Jessie a hand.

“For fuck’s sake,” Zan exclaimed. I
turned to look at him and burst out laughing. In the commotion,
he’d gotten his long hair caught in the pasta roller. He was bent
over at the waist, and the side of his head was pressed against the
machine.

“You okay?” I asked as I rushed to his
aid.

“I’m fine, it shut off as soon as my
skull jammed it,” he said. “Not my most graceful moment, I must
admit. I’m incredibly embarrassed that you saw this.”

“It’s okay, I’ve done that before
too,” I reassured him.

“Really?”

“No.” I smiled at him as I fumbled
around looking for the reverse switch.

Dante appeared in the kitchen doorway
with Eddie Guerrera and a huge security guard. When my brother saw
what was happening, he started chuckling and came to help. As he
flipped the switch and freed Zan’s hair, Dante told him, “You were
clearly meant to be a member of the Dombruso family.
Welcome.”

“Cheers, mate,” Zan said with a grin,
straightening up and pushing his no-worse-for-wear hair back from
his face.

Meanwhile, the puppy was on some sort
of crazed quest to reach the security guard. He’d dragged Jessie to
the doorway, straining at the end of his leash. Jessie threw both
feet up in the air and braced his sneakers on the frame of the wide
entryway. He looked up at Eddie through the V formed by his legs
and said, “Um, hi. I’m a big fan of your videos. Thanks for
coming.”

Eddie grinned, then reached down and
unhooked the dog’s leash from the collar as he said, “Thanks for
thinking of me.”

The puppy finally reached his prize
and started jumping all over the security guard and licking him.
The huge guy cracked a smile as he scratched the animal behind the
ears, then looked at us and put on a serious expression as he said,
“Dogs love me. They always have. I don’t know why.”

Jessie untangled himself from the
leash and handed it to Dante. My brother and the security guard
went into the living room, and the puppy trotted along happily.
Meanwhile, Eddie held his hand out to Jessie and pulled him to his
feet, and they smiled at each other shyly. “Sorry I’m early,” Eddie
said, fidgeting first with his glasses and then with the backpack
slung over his shoulder. “Traffic was lighter than
usual.”

“It’s totally fine. It’s pretty much
always like this. Did you have any problems getting through
security?”

“
No, they let me in as soon
as I told them my name. The paparazzi was interesting, though. They
seem to be turning a bit rabid out there.”

“I think they started out that way.”
Jessie walked our guest into the kitchen, and said, “Everyone, this
is Eddie Guerrera. Eddie, everyone.”

“Can you boys hang out for a few
minutes?” Nana asked. “We’re making lunch and filming an episode
for my cooking show. It’s on cable TV, maybe you’ve heard of it.
It’s called Cooking with Nana. I didn’t come up with the name. I
would’ve gone for something snappier.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie said.

I went up to him and shook his hand.
“I’m Gianni, thanks for coming. These are some friends of mine that
want to remain off the record,” I said, indicating the group
sitting around the table. “Sorry to be all cloak and dagger, but
you saw the media frenzy out front. Anonymity is a pretty precious
commodity right now.”

“Oh I totally get it. No worries,”
Eddie said.

“And you probably recognize Zan,” I
said as he joined us.

Eddie wiped his palm on his jeans,
then shook hands and said earnestly, “It’s a huge honor, Mr.
Tillane.”

“It’s just Zan, no formalities here,”
he said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course. You don’t even know what
this means to me! I’m really going to try not to screw up this
interview, even though I have to admit I’m incredibly nervous. I
didn’t have time to prepare questions, so I’m just going to wing
it. If I ask something you don’t want to answer, feel free to tell
me to eff off,” Eddie said. I had to grin at that.

It took a couple minutes, but Nana
managed to regroup and get the show on the road again. Jessie got
back behind the camera, and Nana turned her attention to teaching
Zan how to stuff the pasta. His first batch was somewhat less than
successful. Nana squinted at the lumpy ravioli he held up and
exclaimed, “What happened there? It looks like a nut sack.”
Subsequent attempts were deemed less sack-like.

We’d made a lot of dough, so my
grandmother ended up mixing a second batch of cheese filling. As
she dumped half a jar of crushed red pepper flakes in with the
ricotta and mozzarella, I said, “Isn’t that going to be too spicy,
Nana?”

“Of course not! I just want this batch
to have a little kick, that’s all.” She gave the ingredients a
stir, then climbed up on her stepstool and scooped out a dollop
with her wooden spoon. “Taste this, Zan,” she said, holding the
spoon to his lips. “It doesn’t have the raw egg in it yet, so it’s
safe. Tell Johnnie it’s not too spicy.”

Zan looked a bit concerned, but did as
she asked. As soon as he swallowed it, he started coughing and made
a little gasping sound. “Oh shit, he’s choking!” Nana yelled. “Code
red! We gotta do CPR!”

Before I could explain that he was
just reacting to the hot peppers, she grabbed Zan by the shoulders
and bent him over backwards onto the counter, in a move I wouldn’t
have thought she was capable of. Nana then climbed on top of him
and clamped her mouth down on his. Zan’s cheeks puffed up as she
tried to force some air into him, his arms flailing and one leg
kicking. Christian almost fell over from laughing so hard, and I
leapt in and tried to talk Nana down.

It took a while to convince her Zan
was fine, but finally she climbed off him and daintily patted her
hair into place. “Well, better safe than sorry,” she said. “Also, I
may have slipped your honey the tongue, Johnnie, but don’t worry, I
wasn’t trying to steal your man. That was just one of them, you
know, advanced rescue techniques. I saw it on a rerun of Baywatch.”
I thought Christian was going to rupture something from his
laughing fit, and Zan was quite gracious about the fact that my
grandmother had just Frenched him. He kept an eye on her throughout
the rest of the prep, though.

Eventually, we finished making the
meal (with a less five-alarm filling), lost the aprons, and shut
off the camera. Eddie joined us for lunch, and afterwards we went
into the formal living room. Like a lot of the ground floor, it was
decorated in rich reds and golds. A sleek, black grand piano sat in
one corner, and a huge Persian rug stretched over much of the
amber-colored wood floor. An ornate fireplace topped with a pretty
landscape painting was the centerpiece of the room.

Eddie set up his equipment. It was
less than state-of-the-art, consisting of a bulky digital camcorder
on a little tripod, a Radio Shack microphone, a beat-up laptop and
a swing-arm desk lamp to provide a bit of lighting. While he got
ready, our friends and family brought in some kitchen chairs and
created a seating area behind the camera. When I went to join them,
Zan said, “I want you here with me, Gianni.” He was seated on a
loveseat and indicated the spot right next to him.