Taming Theresa (25 page)

"Get a cart please." she said, and took off
calling out, "Johnny, where do they keep the candy?"

He grabbed a cart and ran to catch up with
her as she sped down the aisle. "You want candy? There's a real
nice chocolate shop a block over. I'll take you there."

"No. It's Halloween and I have nothing for
the children." She found the packages of large candy bars and put a
few in the cart that John pushed, trailing along in her wake.

"Kids don't come around to the farm, it's too
far." John tried to explain.

"It’s okay; I just gotta get a few things,
not much."

An hour later, John wheeled an overflowing
cart over to his SUV. Rose reached in one of the bags and removed
the candy bars.

"Now you and Theresa will have something to
eat. Put the cold things in that cooler and you go on to the
restaurant. Dom and Theresa are there and I'll come soon."

"All right, if you're sure."

The young people of Pippin's Grove were
parading up and down Main Street dressed as ghosts, pirates, and
princesses, trick or treating the local businesses. Rose began
stopping them, pinching cheeks, admiring costumes and dropping
candy bars into their bags.

Leaving her with the kids, John dutifully
headed to the tavern. He sat at the bar with some friends, a group
of beer drinking sports fans. Most were regular customers not just
of the tavern, but also his Shell Station. One of them was a Van
Wart cousin. The conversation, even more aimless and desultory than
usual, drifted away from football and onto more serious
matters.

"John, is Ralph really going to sell the
place?" asked one of the guys.

He looked into his glass at the rising
bubbles, and muttered, "It's Ralph's. He can do what he wants. "He
deserves to retire and spend his life the way he wants, just like
anyone else, right?" In spite of his words, the thought still
depressed him. He sipped slowly, wondering if at this time next
year, he'd be drinking his beer somewhere else.

Fred rested his elbows on the bar. "Who knows
what's gonna happen if he does? Maybe if somebody else buys the
place, I won't have a job, but I'm not going to worry about it
until it happens."

"Well, I'm worried about it," said Kay, as
she came and joined the group. "Fred, I need another white wine and
a Bud Light." She turned to John and his friends. "I want to keep
this job and I like working for Ralph. If a new owner brings in his
own people I don't know what I'd do."

"Don't worry Kay," he said. "Usually somebody
buys a business; they retain all the employees. If worse comes to
worst, I could give you a job at the Shell Station."

"I appreciate that, John. I really do, but I
like it here."

He shrugged and drank more beer. "A job's a
job. Take it or leave it."

"I'm sorry John, said Kay. "I didn't mean
anything. I'm sure if I needed it, a job at the gas station would
be fine. It's just that the whole thing gives me a stomach ache,
know what I mean?"

"Yeah, me too, but I don't see that there's
anything we can do about it," he said.

Kay lowered her voice. "I did hear that
Terry's father is thinking about making Ralph an offer. Is that
true?"

He nodded, finished the beer, and pushed his
glass toward Fred. "I think he'd just turn the tavern into an
Italian restaurant like his others down in Jersey. It wouldn't be
the same. We'll have fried calamari on the menu instead of the
onion rings."

"Here you go Kay," said Fred putting the
white wine and glass of Bud on the bar.

"Thanks, Fred. Hey, Italian food wouldn't be
so bad. Everybody likes Italian. Long as we all still have jobs,
who cares?"

Kay bustled off with the drinks and Fred put
a fresh glass of beer in front of him.

"I dunno," said one of the regulars at the
end of the bar. "No more onion rings? That would be like a national
disaster. Would be like replacing the Statue of Liberty with a
statue of Mickey Mouse or something. What the hell is 'cally marry'
anyway?"

Ralph excused himself, and wandered away with
his phone. Dom went over to the bar where he studied the bottles
lined up there. He could just hear Ralph's monosyllabic responses
to the caller. The conversation was mostly one sided. Finally,
Ralph said, "I'll have to think about it. I'll call you if I’m
interested. Yeah, okay, thanks." He came back and dropped the phone
onto the table with a thud.

Dominick turned and walked slowly back to the
table and sat down.

Ralph lifted his head from staring at the
cell phone and grunted. "Mr. Buonadies, I think perhaps we can make
a deal."

Dominick lifted one eyebrow in question,
waiting for Ralph to explain.

"That was Mr. DeLuca, down in New Jersey.
He's been in touch with his building inspector." He paused, fiddled
with the phone for a moment, and then dropped it back into a
pocket. "It seems the inspector found some problems with the
tavern. He said the wiring is very old and needs to be replaced,
though I had it completely rewired ten years ago. He claims there
are structural issues in the building itself, though the state
inspects the building every year as required by law. The plumbing
needs work, etc, etc. With all the money they'd need to put into
the place, Mr. DeLuca says he couldn't possibly pay what he
initially offered and mentioned a much lower figure." He smiled at
Dominick. "It's considerably lower than your own offer." He thrust
out his hand. "Perhaps we can come to an agreement."

Dominick smiled and shook Ralph's hand. "I
too will want to have my own inspection. I'm sure you’ll
understand, but I can promise you though, I will stand by my first
offer. I've done my homework here. I believe the tavern and the
property have potential."

Ralph nodded. He hesitated for a moment
before asking tentatively, "Will you be opening a restaurant just
like the others in New Jersey?"

Dominick laughed. "I believe there are people
who worry about that. They need not be concerned. Oh, we may add a
few items to the menu and the wine list, but the name of the
establishment will not change." He looked around the room. "I'm
sure there will be some work, some restoration needed, but my
intention is to make Paulding's Rest, if anything, look even more
like a colonial tavern. Personally, I feel it's more appropriate
for Pippin's Grove. If you have a going concern that is successful,
it is usually unwise to change the nature of your product. I'm sure
you agree."

"Good! That's what your daughter told me, but
I wasn't sure if you might have different ideas." All smiles, the
big man rose and strode to the bar in the corner. Over his shoulder
he said, "A drink to celebrate our deal Mr. Buonadies? What's your
pleasure?"

"Please, call me Dom, and yes, that would be
nice. I’ll have what you’re having Ralph, but what do you think
John Paulding and his friends would have ordered were they here
today having a drink?"

"Oh, I'd say, back in 1780 probably they'd go
for rum or brandy. That and locally produced ale was pretty much
what was available then. I have a very nice brandy here, as a
matter of fact." He returned to the table with a bottle and
glasses.

Theresa exited the tavern and stood next to
John as they watched Dominick's car disappear down the main street
of Pippin's Grove.

He turned and said with an air of finality,
"I guess before long, we'll have an Italian spaghetti restaurant
with checkered tablecloths, and candles stuck in those straw
covered Chianti bottles, instead of Paulding's Rest."

She turned around and stepped back,
appraising the building. "Hmmm, I think maybe...."

"What exactly do you think," he asked
angrily, hands on hips.

"I'm thinking that we should get rid of these
dingy old windows in front. We could replace them with big
plate-glass windows. That would look much more up-to-date. Yeah,
and right in the window here,” she indicated an area near the door.
“We’ll have a large blow-up of the new menu in English on one side
and Italian on the other with the neon beer advertising across the
top. With the new larger windows, there’ll be plenty of room. We
could hang the Italian flag just above the front door," she said
pointing upwards. "The whole place could use a new coat of paint,
some really bright colors."

He scowled at her. Theresa's self-satisfied
expression infuriated him. Italian flag? No way! She couldn't be
serious.

"Well, what do you think? If Daddy buys the
property, he wants me to be in charge of the renovations and says I
can make all the decisions. I think this town needs something new
and different. This old place is so stuffy and tired looking, don't
you think?"

"No, I don't think," he growled.

"We'll need more visible signage. Something
that can be seen from a distance." She peeked over to see his
reaction and smiled when she saw his face turn red with anger.

"And Ms. Restaurant Manager, I actually think
that changing the tavern into something like that would be a
travesty. For 150 years, Paulding's Rest has been a landmark in the
Hudson Valley. I'm not the only one who thinks that way either. The
whole idea of a new Italian restaurant sucks big time."

She looked hurt. "Oh, I'm sorry you feel that
way. I thought I had some good ideas."

He sighed and shook his head. "Come on. Let’s
go back out to the farm. Your mom bought half of the food in the
Henry Hudson and it’s sitting in the Explorer. Remember, I promised
your father I'd stay and make sure nothing else bad happens and
that's what I'm going to do. I don't know why. I must be
crazy."

They walked to his vehicle in silence. The
silence continued on the drive to the farm. Halfway there, Theresa
looked over at John, grimly scowling at the road ahead. She opened
her mouth to speak, and closed it again. She felt a little guilty
about stringing him along over changing the tavern to an Italian
restaurant, but just a little. Watching his reaction to her wild
suggestions was too much fun to resist. He deserved it after his
idiotic performance at the bed and breakfast the morning after the
wedding. It'll teach him to screw around with me. She glanced again
in his direction, and did feel just a little sorry for him. He
looks so forlorn.

Buonadies Famous Italian Sausage - Gluten
Free!

4 lbs ground pork

1 tablespoon fennel, crushed

3 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

6 garlic cloves, crushed

1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 tablespoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, freshly ground

3/4 cup dry red wine

Mix ingredients together and refrigerate for
one hour before stuffing into casings.

(A small amount can be cooked before stuffing
to taste for seasoning.)

Stuff casings and cure in refrigerator
overnight before cooking or freezing.

If you don't have a sausage stuffer, the
loose mixture can be made into patties.

Cook in a skillet the same as you would
breakfast sausage, or drop into simmering tomato

sauce.

"Is there any candy in the house?" called
Theresa. She was in the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets,

John trailed in after her and asked, "What do
you want candy for? You got a ‘voglia’?”

"There's a ‘trick-or-treater’ at the door."
She moved to the pantry. "Jack and Vicky must have something we can
give him."

John frowned. "Kids never come out here. It's
a country road and the houses are too far apart. Besides, they
probably give their apples out. What kid is going to walk all this
way for an apple?”

The doorbell chimed again.

“Apple! Good idea.” Theresa reached into the
crisper of the old refrigerator and found what she needed.

He went to the front door and peered through
the glass. Outside, the temperature was dropping and the wind had
picked up, sending dry leaves swirling across the front yard. Fully
dark, all was in shadow beyond the dim light falling through
windows onto the porch. A ghost wrapped in an old bed sheet
clutching a shopping bag was outside the front door.

“I don’t like this,” said John thoughtfully.
“We don’t even have the porch light on to signal we’re
participating in Halloween.”

“Oh John, don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded
him.

Dom had urged him to keep the farmhouse doors
locked at all times. “Don’t open it. He’ll go away soon.”

Theresa elbowed him away from the door. “The
kid’s probably freezing out there.” She threw the bolt and opened
the door.

Instantly, the ghost rose up from a crouch,
thrust a hand into his shopping bag and John found himself staring
into the muzzle of a thirty-eight special. Dropping the bag, the
ghost pulled his costume off, came in, and shoved the door closed
with his foot.

John took a step back and reached for
Theresa, pulling her away from the gun.

"Oh my god,” she whispered, trembling. “Oh
shit, John. It's Tony and he’s got a gun!"

"Yeah, he sure does,” John, said calmly.
“Stay behind me Terry."

"Shut up both of youse," growled Tony. "Get
over in the corner there, by the window. Get moving."

John inched back, holding Theresa behind him,
as he warily kept an eye on the muzzle of the revolver.

Aiming the pistol at them with one hand, Tony
approached the table where the gifts were stacked, and began to
rummage through them. “Where the hell is it?” He began tossing
packages off the table as he searched.

Theresa stepped boldly in front of John.
“Hey, what do you think you're doing? Cut it out! You’ll break
something. What are you looking for?”

"It's not here. I told you, Terry, I want
that box of money. Tell me where the hell it is now, or you and
your boyfriend here are gonna be real sorry."