The Devil Served Desire (17 page)

"Man, I don't know. Marriage... that's, like, forever."

"That's the point."

Vinny lowered his knife to the counter and hung his head. "Theresa really loves me. No matter what I do, she always takes my idiot ass back. And I do some pretty dumb things."

"You? Nah."

Vinny sniffled. "Theresa says the same thing. She's so-so—''

And then he lost it. Vinny's chest heaved and his eyes started leaking. "She's too good for me. I don't deserve a wife like that."

Dante groaned. Not again. He left the rag on the counter, crossing to his emotional employee. "Vin, come on man, pull yourself together."

Vinny shook his head, wiping his eyes on his hunched shoulders. "Aw, shit, Dante, I do love her."

The new line chefs were watching Vinny's outburst with wary nosiness. They continued chopping and prep-ping, but at a slower, quieter pace than before.

"Then marry her," Dante told Vinny, draping an arm over his shoulder.

Vinny looked up, his eyes watery pools. "You think I should?"

"If you love her, yeah."

Vinny sniffled again, hard and loud, then nodded. "Okay, I will. But..."

Dante eyed him. "What?"

"If I propose, it's gotta be perfect. Theresa deserves the best, you know. If I screw it up, she's going to remember that forever and then ..." Vinny's shoulders shook again, "I'll never forgive myself."

"Vin, you'll do fine."

"I don't know. I think I need to practice."

"Practice what?"

"Proposing."

Dante gestured toward the counter. "I think you need to practice chopping garlic. I need another forty cloves in the next ten minutes."

"Just once. Please? Let me see how it sounds?"

"How what sounds?"

"My marriage proposal. Will you listen to it?"

"You want to propose... to me?"

"You're the whole reason I'm marrying Theresa. I mean, you introduced us, you gave me this job here, and you helped me see my true heart. You should be a part of it." Vinny's large brown eyes had now turned pleading.

"All right," Dante grumbled. "Do it quick and do it quiet so the kitchen help doesn't hear."

Vinny nodded. He cleared his throat. Twice. Then drew himself up, squared his shoulders and—

Dropped to one knee at Dante's feet.

"Vinny, get the hell up," Dante whispered.

"I gotta do this right, Boss. Now, give me your hand."

"No. I'm drawing the line there."

"Fine. I'll just pretend." He cleared his throat again, extended his left hand in the general direction of Dante's. "You are the greatest thing in my life," he began, his voice starting to crack. "You make my eggs right and you do that little thing with your tongue—"

"Vin!"

"Okay, okay." He sniffled and started again. "You're the ricotta to my lasagna and without you, I'd be"—a sob escaped him—"this tasteless lump of dough." He lifted his watery eyes to Dante's. "Oh, baby, will you marry me?"

All activity in the kitchen had ceased, now silent as a convent. For a second, a weird feeling ran through Dante. What would it be like to be in Vinny's shoes? To love a woman so much that he'd humiliate himself in front of an entire kitchen, just to get a marriage proposal right? To be so overcome by the thought of proposing that it left him a sobbing, damp mess?

Granted, it didn't take much to make Vinny sob, but still...

When was the last time he knew anyone who loved someone else that much?

Much less himself?

Someone across the room cleared their throat and Dante realized he was standing in the middle of a very odd, romantic tableau. "Vin, get up," he muttered.

"You didn't answer me."

"Get back to your garlic or I'll fire you." He glanced at the other cooks and the two waitresses, standing in the stainless steel room like statues. "Get back to work, all of you."

No one moved. Apparently they'd all heard from Franco that Dante's bark was about as harmful as a Pekingese's. "Vin, Theresa's going to say yes."

Vinny sniffled. "How do you know?"

"Because if I were a woman, I'd be sobbing all over the diamond right now."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah." Dante tipped his head toward the counter. "Now, back to the garlic. Please? I have a restaurant to run. I can't be getting married in the middle of the dinner hour."

Though, for a minute there, the idea of getting married hadn't seemed so crazy at all. Just as long as his intended life partner was a lot more attractive—not to mention the opposite gender—than his sobbing sous chef.

And maybe...

Had a name that reminded him of marinara sauce.

Mary Louise's Meal-of-Nothing Mozzarella, Tomato and Basil Salad

2 large tomatoes, sliced

10 slices fat-free, reduced calorie mozzarella cheese

10 leaves fresh basil

2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil

Reduced sodium salt

Pepper

Arrange tomato slices and cheese on a pretty plate with enthusiasm. The smaller the plate you choose, the more food it looks like you're getting.

Decorate it nicely with the basil, slipping the leaves in here and there, almost like you're making yourself a little flower.

Sprinkle with the olive oil and dust with a little salt and pepper. Eat only half of what is on the plate and save the rest for another day, so you can demonstrate once again that you have the best willpower in the neighborhood. Tell yourself you do not feel deprived. You feel
empowered
by your food choices.

That she-devil Maria Pagliano will be insanely jealous when she sees you, making it all worth it. Right?

Monday night, Maria stood in the Stop & Shop on Tremont Street, ready to admit defeat. She'd spent the weekend and today, her day off, reliving the horror of her date with Antonio. She'd managed to avoid the phone, her mother, and life in general.

For the first day, sticking to her diet had been easy because she'd been battling a hangover and a queasy stomach. On Sunday, willpower had been a little harder to come by. By Monday, it was nearly nonexistent. She'd finally ended up moving a chair in front of the door to prevent herself from leaving the apartment for Guido's.

But now, caught between aisles four and five, there was no barrier to her desires. No scale to climb on as a visual reminder that every calorie counted.

Just the aisle markers, whispering their wares. Aisle Four: Cookies, Ice-Cream Toppings, Peanut Butter. Aisle Five: Granola Bars, Canned Fruit, Wheat Germ.

The proverbial devil and angel choices.

Go left Or right? Temptation or salvation. Fat or thin. Satiation or—

"Maria? Is that you?"

She pivoted and nearly missed the pencil outline of a woman pushing a cart that held less calories than a Diet Coke.

Mary Louise Zipparetto. In an A-line skirt and perky little sandals. Her minimal bust was covered by a white stretch cotton top that didn't have anywhere to stretch, given that Mary Louise had dieted away her breasts. "Mary Louise. What a pleasant surprise."

Not.

"I thought that was you, but from the rear, well, I wasn't so sure," Mary Louise said. With a smile, no less.

Bitch
. Maria forced a smile to her face and tightened her hands around the cart's handle instead of Mary Louise's throat. "I'm sure you have a lot of shopping to do," Maria said, gesturing at Mary Louise's bare-as-Mother-Hubbard's-cupboard cart "It was nice to see you." She started to roll her cart away.

"Oh, no, I'm all done. This is all I'm buying for the week." Mary Louise let out a little, self-deprecating laugh and waved at her twelve-items-or-less. "I don't eat nearly as much now that I'm thin."

Maria bit back a nasty comment about birds and how they'd make tasty treats for fat cats. "Congratulations on the weight loss. You look great," she ground out.

Mamma hadn't raised an impolite girl. Once again, she tried to escape.

She'd head for the lottery line and play the Mass Millions. She didn't have time to wait until Wednesday for the Megabucks drawing.

"Did I hear you were going to the Chubby Chums, too?"

Maria stopped in her tracks and pivoted back. "Me?" She clasped a hand to her chest. "What gave you that idea?"

"I ran into Stephanie at the movies the other day and she mentioned someone new had joined. We got to talking and she said her name was Maria." Mary Louise's eyes zeroed in on Maria's face.

"Well, I better get going—"

Mary Louise's gaze narrowed. "I could swear my mother said your mother had talked about you joining a group—"

"Mammas love to gossip, don't they?" Maria interrupted. If she didn't get out of here now, she'd be spending the rest of her life at Cedar Junction for murder by shopping cart. "I really have to go." She turned her cart away.

"Oh, wait! I almost forgot! I'm getting married!" She squealed the words like a pig that had taken over the trough. She thrust her hand forward and dangled a perfect marquis-cut full-carat under Maria's nose. "I'm going to be Mrs. Joey Pantaloni."

Maria forced a polite smile to her face. "From Zipparetto to Pantaloni, huh? Well, that has a nice... ring to it."

Mary Louise sighed. "Oh, it does, doesn't it?"

Despite the close proximity of all her favorite comfort foods, Maria had to fight the urge to deposit her lunch on Mary Louise's new joy. God. The woman lost some weight and became a complete pain in the left hand.

"Anyway, I'm having a bachelorette parry and I'm inviting all my friends. I want you to come. It's on Saturday night, at that hot new restaurant in town."

A sense of dread filled Maria's throat. "What hot new restaurant?"

"You know, the one the
Globe
just went nuts over a couple weeks ago? La... La something." Mary Louise waved a hand at the forgotten syllables. "You practically have to be a Kennedy to get a reservation, but my father knew someone and got us a table."

There was only one restaurant the
Globe
had raved about recently.

Vita.

Mary Louise grabbed Maria's hand. "Please say you'll come. I just can't imagine celebrating without all my friends."

The thought of Mary Louise in Vita—whisper-thin, lording her engagement over the free world—was too much for Maria to handle. "I really don't think I can. You have a good time. Vita's a great place to eat," Maria said. "But watch the pasta. It'll undo the best of any woman's intentions."

Then she left, before she ended up in jail for throttling Mary Louise in a jealous-thin rage, or worse, accepted the invitation to the bachelorette party from hell.

Since she hadn't won Mass Millions, Maria went to work on Tuesday morning. Self-pity wasn't keeping her full any longer. So she headed into the shop. There, she had friends. And cookies.

"What happened to you?" Candace asked when Maria entered. "You look terrible."

Maria took a seat at one of the kitchen stools and dropped her head into her hands. "I had the worst date of my life this weekend."

"Worse than Harvey the Exterminator?" Rebecca asked.

Maria nodded.

"What about Gerry the Pipe Fitter, who kept trying to get you to change your plumbing?"

"Worse than that."

"Nothing would beat Dirk the Destroyer. Remember why he earned that nickname?" Candace asked Rebecca.

She laughed. "Because he liked to pretend he was Jean Claude Van Damme all the time. Didn't he start kick-boxing his way through the line to see
Lord of the Rings?
"

Maria nodded. "It was a gruesome sight. Popcorn carnage everywhere."

"That would be humiliating." Candace shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook. "I don't think anything could top that Kung Fu Ken doll."

"Oh, I managed," Maria said. "I spent the whole weekend going through the nightmare."

"What did you do?"

"Regurgitated on Antonio."

"Eww." Rebecca made a face. "I take it he didn't call for a second date?"

"Oh, he called all right. Made up some bullshit about flying back to LA. Early. Probably took a one-way to the dry cleaner's and met a woman with an iron stomach."

"Well," Candace said. "Look at the bright side."

"There's a bright side?"

"Well, no. I can't think of one. But I thought I'd toss that out there because it sounded good."

Maria laughed. "Give me some cookies. And let me wallow in my misery."

Rebecca laid a hand on hers. "You aren't going to blow your diet over this, are you? I thought you were doing so good."

Maria tossed her head back and let out a sigh. "I think I need to change tactics."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to get the biggest turkey baster I can find. And stuff Mary Louise Zipparetto until she's four sizes larger than me." Maria grinned. "It'd be a hell of a lot easier than this diet crap."

Her cell phone rang. Maria dug it out of her purse and answered it before the last stanza of Bach finished on the ringer. "Hello?"

"You'll break your mamma's heart if you don't come to dinner on Wednesday night," Mamma said. "Shatter it like glass."

"Mamma, I just saw you three days ago."

'You are my only child." On the other end of the phone, Maria could almost see her mother clutching at her chest, to add to the drama of the statement. "All I have."

"You have Papa, Nonna and Nonno. Plus, the North End is practically a Pagliano family reunion every time someone hangs out their laundry."

Her mother ignored her. "We always have dinner together at least one time each week. You come, no?"

"No."

The sigh that traveled over the phone line was filled with years of disappointment. The kind that came from a daughter who had never married. Never produced grandchildren. And had yet to live up to the Italian woman tradition of going forth and multiplying.

She had no intention of getting married because of parental pressure. The last thing Maria wanted to do was turn into a baby producing machine like Cousin Paulina or a shrieking, crying drama queen like Paulina's older sister. Marriage made women dependent on men. They'd lay down their lives so they could crank out babies in between raviolis.