The Spia Family Presses On

NINE

Oh, But It Feels So Good

I was halfway up my stairs when I heard, “Any chance we can continue where we left off?” Leo’s voice came from behind and stopped me cold.

I turned to see him standing on my bottom step looking as gorgeous as ever. The motion lights over the garage door cast a sultry glow on his face and hair, making him appear even more male than he normally did. There was always something hypnotic about his face in low lights.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend? A Sharley or Marley or something like that. I can’t always keep up,” I said.

“I did—Marlina—up until about a month ago. She went back to her fiancé. Besides, we were more friends than lovers.”

“Smart girl,” I said.

“Ouch,” he grunted, rubbing his jaw. “But I guess I deserve that.”

I shrugged. “I need a shower.” Oil oozed from my Uggs with each step. I wondered if they were salvageable.

He walked up a couple steps. “I can help with that.”

No doubt he could, more than I wanted to admit. We’d had some of our best sex under running water. “Not tonight. It’s too soon, besides it’s been a really bad day.”

I turned and walked up a few more steps. He followed right behind me. “You know I can make you relax.”

I stepped up on my tiny porch knowing that if he came much closer we would be sharing soap suds. “I can’t do this right now,” I told him, heading for my door, hoping he would get the message and back off.

I was already coming up with excuses to invite him inside my apartment, like I needed to ask him what Dickey was doing on his porch, and why had he lied about it. And more importantly, what had they been arguing about?

“Then why did you kiss me in the barn?” he asked all soft and sultry-like. I could almost taste his kiss.

I turned to face him, oil dripping down my left cheek. “I had a brain freeze. A lapse in sanity. A moment of complete confusion. I don’t know. It just happened. You’re reading too much into it.”

He stepped up on the landing. “I’m reading what you want me to read, that there’s hope for us. I can’t stop thinking about you, Mia.”

“Me, and half the other women who live in this valley.”

He gazed down for a moment then looked into my eyes. That’s when I felt the crack in my resolve, a big fat crack that ran right up the center of my soul.

“You’re right. I was a shit, but I haven’t been serious about another woman since we broke up. The day you walked out, I finally realized what you meant to me, what you mean to me now. I was a fool, Mia. If there’s any chance, any hope . . .”

I kissed him hard on the lips, completely denying all my apprehensions and months of counseling. I wanted him like I’d never wanted him before. As if I’d been swimming under water holding my breath way too long and surfaced, taking in big gulps of life-sustaining oxygen. As if I would die if I was denied another second.

I opened my door and we tumbled in still clinging onto each other, stopping long enough for me to set the lock. The room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in through the windows, which gave everything an ethereal glow.

He helped me out of my sweater and bra, and I helped him out of his shirt. He pulled me in tight against his chest. The sensation of his body on my skin only added to the fire that was already burning through me.

Our shoes came off next as we made our way to the bathroom. When I slipped out of my jeans and panties he was busy getting the water temperature just right. I hit the light switch for the shower and a red glow filled the room. I kept a red light bulb in the sconce in the ceiling over the shower because I liked the way it made skin look, all smooth and satiny.

Steam began to fill the room adding to the intensity of the moment. I unfastened the button on his pants and pulled down the zipper. He’d already gone hard, and I held my breath as I waited for him to step out of his pants and underwear.

Now, fully naked we stepped under the hot water and for a moment we stood apart, taking in each other’s bodies. Leo had always liked to get a good, long, delicious look at me before we made love. It heightened his arousal, and drove me wild with anticipation.

We took it slow then, carefully washing each other. I soaped his chest and arms, but he stopped me from going any further.

He spun me around and began my wash by lathering my hair first, and rinsing it, then he slowly moved down my body while standing close behind me using his hands to gently spread the soap, lingering on my breasts and between my legs. The sensations were impossible. I’d forgotten just how amazing his touch could be. Little shivers racked my body and it took all the willpower I had to allow him to continue. God, how I missed this man inside me. How I missed his lovemaking.

I turned to continue my wash of him, but again he stopped me. “Next time,” he said and moved in closer. He pressed me against the wall, and lifted me into position while holding onto my butt. I wrapped a leg around him and he entered me as the warm water ran down both our bodies. I shivered, nearing climax before he even began his rhythm. When he shuddered with his own pleasure I joined him, only this time I came so hard that I collapsed onto him, completely and delightfully exhausted.

Ten minutes later we luxuriated on opposite sides of my extra deep whirlpool tub. I had added olive oil and essence of lavender to the water, lit a few candles, while the jazz group Four Play softly entertained us in the background.

Then right when I should have been feeling perfectly content, reality snuck in to change the mood.

I hated when that happened.

“You know this can’t work between us,” I said. “We’re two different people. Besides, I don’t drink anymore, and don’t want to start up again. Having a winemaker for a boyfriend doesn’t exactly help my cause.”

His legs brushed mine. “Can’t we just take this one date at a time? No commitment.”

“See, that’s where I get all messed up. No commitment means other people, and other people means I’ll get jealous, and when I get jealous because I’ve fallen for you again, I’ll start drinking and if I start drinking again, well, it’s enough to give me a headache, especially with everything else going on.”

“Mia, I’m telling you I’m not like that anymore. You have to trust me on this.”

The real problem was I couldn’t trust myself, but at the moment, I felt too content to argue. I simply wanted to go to bed.

Alone.

But before I sent him on his contented way with the possibility of us coupling up again, I needed to ask him about what I saw that afternoon out on his porch. Our future rested on his answer. “So, what’s up with you and Dickey?”

His forehead creased. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what was the argument about?”

“Excuse me?”

His eyes darted to the candle. The man was giving off lie signals right and left. Didn’t he realize what he was doing?

“Come on. Come clean about this. I was passing the vineyard today and I saw you and Dickey out on your porch, arguing.”

He stared at me for a moment, as if he had to think about his answer. A stalling tactic he’d used before.

“I don’t know who you saw out there, but it wasn’t me. I’ve been in meetings all day and as far as Dickey being at my place, I never saw the man.”

“You’re lying,” I told him.

He smiled, and gazed down at the bubbly water. I expected our usual argument, but instead he said, “As pleasant as this has been, I need to go now.”

He stood and I watched the water infused with oil glide down his perfect body. He grabbed a towel, dried off, picked up his clothes and left the room.

This was a new tactic on his part: lying combined with complete avoidance. I wondered how long he would keep this new game up.

I stood and stepped out of the tub, drying off with a plush white towel, my body all smooth from the oil. I pulled on my flannel jammies with the giant red flowers and padded out to the living room.

“Tell you what,” he said, now dressed except for a shirt. Just the sight of that chest made me want to start all over again, despite his illusive behavior, but instead I bravely walked past him to the door and unlocked it. “I’ll see you at the Martini Madness ball and you can either talk to me or not. Either way, I won’t regret what just happened, but if you want a relationship, you’ll have to start believing me. We’ll take it slow. You can build up your trust. This is your game now, kitten. You can play it however you want to. If you want to. ‘Cause it’s not looking too promising at the moment.”

He gave my pajamas the once over, grinned, slipped on his shirt and opened the door. He leaned over and brushed my lips with a gentle kiss. It was just enough to make me crave him even more.

I watched Leo amble down the stairs before I slipped into my marshmallow-soft bed, covered my head with my white down blanket and told myself not to think of the man or I’d never fall asleep. The man was a continual menace to my otherwise comfortable life. And what made it even worse, he was hiding something from me about Dickey.

What was that all about?

Normally, I had no problem coping with my temporary celibacy and lack of alcohol. I’d come to look at it as a phase I was going through. That one day I would be enjoying men and wine again only in a sane way. At least that’s what my last shrink said. For some reason, I wasn’t seeing the vision in my future.

Especially after tonight.

The man’s lack of an answer to my question just proved that I was incapable of getting the truth out of him. The very fact that I didn’t push him on it was due to my complete lack of courage when it came to Leo. But why would he not answer me? What was he hiding? In the past, he would toss me some elaborate lie, but this time he said nothing. That was clearly more disturbing considering I was asking about a missing murder victim.

I turned on my side, fluffed my pillow, shifted my legs to a more comfortable fetal position, stared through my curtainless window at the night sky filled with stars, and forced myself to think of my favorite sleep inducer—uses for olive oil:

It preserves and cleans cutting boards. It’s great to push back cuticles, and it softens the rough spots on your feet. It’s a great suntan oil. It can sooth my chapped lips. A few drops will suffocate a tick. It works as a mosquito repellant, not to mention the great effect it has on dry skin in general. Olive oil has been known to lower blood pressure. It decreases blood sugar levels, helps prevent calcium loss and promotes cellular growth. Olive oil sooths sunburn pain, or is that vinegar? Anyway, it will help with a bee sting, and it will relieve my sore throat when I warm it and . . .

I was asleep before I could think of cleaning solutions.

I kept hearing a bird chirping off in the distance. Wait, not a bird exactly, more like a cat with laryngitis. No, it was definitely a bird. A sick bird. I opened my eyes a little and realized morning had erupted, and for the first time in months, I had slept right through the night.

Slowly the bird sound became stronger, along with a faint scent of blackberries. I tilted my head to get a better whiff, but the scent had been so faint that I couldn’t really smell it anymore.

As my mind began to clear out of the night’s fog, making love to Leo in the shower flashed up on my memory screen. I smiled and snuggled down under the covers while facing the window, realizing my lover was in bed with me. I rolled over to give him a luscious wake-up kiss when Lisa jumped up and dashed out of my bed. I moved away, suddenly remembering that Leo never crawled in bed with me, Lisa had, and thank God I was wearing my best flannel pajamas. I didn’t remember exactly how I ended up in my pajamas, but that was beside the point.

The bird I’d heard was Lisa’s now-working miracle phone.

“Hello,” she cooed into the phone, sensual excitement skipping off of each syllable. I figured whoever was on the other end of the call must be thinking that Lisa was thrilled to hear from them. Little did they know she was simply thrilled that her phone seemed to be working, despite its oil bath.

She giggled, a high-pitched girly giggle. What was that all about? Was a working phone that exciting to her?

She whispered something I didn’t catch, giggled a bit more, ended the call and fell back on the bed next to me, grinning up at the ceiling. And not just any old grin, this was more in the category of gleeful grinning, the kind that eventually causes cheek aches.

“At least your phone is working,” I said, looking over at her, watching for any tells that she might know about Leo coming up to my apartment last night. I couldn’t see any. If she did know, it was only a matter of time before she’d let me have it, with both barrels.

“I bet you’re happy about that,” I offered, wanting her to volunteer who was on the other end of that call.

She nodded then turned toward me, scrunching her pillow under her head, tugging on the covers, grinning. Apparently, Lisa was in a good mood.

“What? Tell me,” I begged. “Did your publisher call with a million dollar deal? Are you going to be on Oprah? Are they making a movie out of one of your books? Tell me.”

She giggled again. I scrunched my pillow under my head and faced her, joining in on her contagious laughter.

It had been a long time since Lisa and I shared a bed. When we were little we’d have sleepovers all summer long. We’d never get any sleep, way too much to talk and laugh about in those days. We had endless conversations, and when we weren’t talking about someone or something, Lisa would make up stories, long lavish stories about kids living on other planets or kids with special powers. I couldn’t count how many times I fell asleep listening to her lulling voice telling me about Zoey the goddess warrior, or Princess Omni, the last female demon slayer on Ozark, a planet on the other side of the universe.

“It was Nick,” she said. “But you’re not going to like what he said.”

My chest instantly tightened as reality came rushing in.

“Oh God! What did he say? No. Don’t tell me. I can’t take any bad news. I mean, what if Dickey pops up somewhere and Nick still has that gun. I bet you anything he already ran a ballistic check on it. This could get really ugly.”

I sat up, turned slightly and looked at her. Her expression hadn’t changed. Something was up, and it couldn’t be bad. “Why are you still smiling? This has to be good. Right? Okay. You can tell me. We don’t have any secrets.”

Lie. No way could I tell her about Leo and me. Her expression changed. She stopped giggling, but the smile still clung to her lips. “Okay. So it’s not good news. Those were nervous giggles, right? Like when we were caught smoking in the locker-room and Sister Marian Joseph made us stay after school and wait for our mothers to come and fetch us so she could personally tell them of our evil deeds. You kept laughing that day, too. Did Nick find Dickey? He ran ballistics and the bullet matches the gun and he’s on his way over to pick up my mom or me or all three of us. I knew this was going to happen. I should have never let him take that weapon. We’re in for it now. We could spend the rest of our lives in jail. You won’t care. You’ll just write more books: Surviving Prison or Surviving Bad Girls. Mom will adjust, she adjusts to anything. But me? I’ll die in jail, all that tasteless food, and confinement, not to mention those bad-ass biker chicks. I never could get along with biker women. You may as well just shoot me right now, because I’ll die if I go to jail.”

I flopped down on the bed, exhausted by my own outburst.

“Are you done ranting?” she asked.

I nodded and braced for the worst.

She stared at me for a moment longer, the smile never leaving her face.

“This isn’t funny. Jail time is serious business. Just ask my family.”

“You’re overreacting. Take a deep breath. Relax. Close your eyes for a minute. Wait to hear what I have to say before you decide we’re jail bait.”

I did as I was told, but there was still a little part of my mind that saw us in bright orange jumpsuits lifting weights out in a cement courtyard alongside buffed, mean-looking women with tattoos that said Eat Me!

When I opened my eyes, she was still smiling.

I thought I’d go with it and take a different approach. “You’re smiling so I’m going to assume it’s good news. Nick’s coming over with the gun. He believes your ridiculous story about research and wants to drive you to a firing range for target practice.”

She shook her head.

“Whaaa-aat?” I whined. “Tell me before my head explodes.”

“Okay. But I know you’ll hate it, especially after all that’s happened. I just can’t help myself. I tried, honest, but this is bigger than my willpower, and you know how strong my willpower is.”

This was true. I was the binge drinker. Lisa was the designated driver.

“Just tell me!”

She let out a breath. “Nick asked me to the Martini Madness Ball tomorrow tonight.”

“Get out. You wouldn’t go with him, right? Or would you?”

I didn’t quite know how to react to this news.

“Last night, while you were taking a shower to get rid of all that oil, Nick helped me clean up my car, and I helped him clean off his shoes. Anyway, one thing led to another and, well, he’s a total babe, so I gave him my phone number.”

“But your phone was oil bound at the time.”

“I know, but in the heat of the moment I forgot.”

This was serious. Lisa never forgot anything.

“He’s a detective with the Sheriff’s Department and we’re witnesses in a murder case. Not only did we tamper with the evidence, the body is missing, and the killer tried to frame my mom, and Nick more than likely has the murder weapon that we provided. I don’t care how much of a babe he is, until we can figure all this out, he’s trouble . . . several-years-in-the-slammer type of trouble. Bad-ass biker chick kind of trouble.”

She sat up, and folded her legs under her butt. “That’s not entirely true. I mean let’s review the facts. Your cousin Dickey has been murdered, but the body has gone missing, and as long as it’s missing there’s no murder, at least not according to the law.”

“You and I know there’s been a murder, not to mention my entire family. And we also know that somebody in my family probably knocked him off, and tried to pin it on my mom.”

“But do we actually know this as a fact or are we simply speculating because we found her gun near the body. Who knows how long that gun could have been there?”

“Not long enough. I’d just seen it in her jewelry armoire a few hours before Dickey was killed. That has to be the murder weapon. And what about her bracelet?”

“As long as the police don’t get it, it’s a non issue.”

“But I can’t get it out of my head that she wasn’t wearing a bracelet later in the evening when we all went back into the barn. For all I know, she really is the killer. Wait. Did I just say that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re mom isn’t the killer. Maybe she took it off for some reason and gave it to someone and that someone was the killer. Who knows, but that’s beside the point.”

I shook my head. “Please. She would never do that. When do you ever remember my mom without a bracelet?”

She thought for a moment. “All right, so maybe she did it. And if she did do it, she probably had a damn good reason. And if she had a damn good reason, then it’s all taken care of. Obviously, most of the men in the family had to help her. How else would that millstone have gotten moved?”

I flashed on those papers I retrieved from the bank and a curious negative thought pried open my determination to clear my mom. Could my mom have pulled the trigger on Dickey because of that document, with the entire Spia clan standing by her side? The vision was a little over the top, especially if I focused on Hetty with her ruby-red lips and clown hair, but perfectly reasonable considering my family’s values.

The family that kills together . . .

Lisa continued. “Your family did whatever mobsters do to get rid of a body, which I don’t want to think about, but it was necessary in this situation. It clearly means that Nick isn’t a threat. Not as long as Dickey’s wearing cement boots floating on the bottom of some lake or river. Nick is simply a sweet guy who I’d like to get to know better.”

“Who just happens to be a detective.”

“Not a problem, at least not for me. I’m not part of your family, remember? I’m the friend. I can date a judge and it won’t make any difference. Besides, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Oh?”

She rolled out of bed and stood there, staring down at me, looking rather put together for just having woken up. “Okay, so maybe we didn’t call the police the moment we found Dickey. We were just doing what we thought was right at the time. He was a bad dude anyway. A mob boss. You don’t seriously believe he didn’t kill Carla DeCarlo, do you? Or had something to do with it? Besides, nobody cares if there’s one less mobster in this world.”

She turned on her naked heels, padded off to the kitchen area, filled a kettle with tap water and placed it on a burner. I rolled out of bed and trudged off to the bathroom, eager to take yet another shower. A shower was always a place for me to think, and brother did I ever need time to think.

I grabbed a change of clothes from my closet and went into the bathroom. As soon as I stepped inside the scent of berries was almost overpowering. I figured it had to be coming from the clothes-hamper where I’d thrown my oily clothes.

When I placed my clothes on the counter, I nearly jumped out of my flannels. A bloody white handkerchief rolled up in a cylinder sat on the edge of the sink.

I took a step back, then slowly crept in closer, afraid the thing was going to jump up and bite me . . . I figured nothing was impossible after the previous night.

As I moved in closer to the bloody intruder, I picked up a toothbrush lying on the sink and poked at it a couple times. The hankie unraveled a bit and something that resembled a finger fell out of it and rolled around in the sink, leaving a streak of dark red blood.

“That’s disgusting,” I said out loud.

I leaned over the sink to get a better look and realized that it was, in fact, a pinky finger, a pinky finger with a long, perfectly manicured nail. Undoubtedly, this was Dickey’s pinky finger rolling around in my sink. My already tormented tummy reminded me just how disturbing this moment of severed madness was.

“Oh-my-god! Lisa, come’ere-come’ere-come’ere!”

Lisa ran in before I finished getting all my yells out. She spotted the severed digit as soon as she walked in the room and cautiously peered inside the basin.

“Wow,” she calmly said. “I hope this finger belongs to Dickey or your family is getting completely out of control.”

“It’s his. It has to be his. I remember the manicure.”

She poked around at the bloody hankie. “There’s a note.” She picked it up, carefully unfolded it and read the printed words: “If you give me what was on this finger, Dickey will disappear forever. If you don’t, you’ll regret it. This is my final offer.” She looked at me. “This is so Godfather. Couldn’t the killer have thought of something more original? I mean, come on. A finger? A threatening note? Whoever this guy is, needs to update his bag of mob tricks.”

The teapot whistled. She dropped the note in the sink and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me standing there still clutching my pile of clean clothes, completely put off by her flippant attitude. We were talking murder here and she was talking Hollywood.

I padded out of the bathroom. “Doesn’t this scare you? Aren’t you worried, or at the very least, nauseous? Someone just threatened us, not to mention that he or she, although I’m thinking it was a he because the women in this family are pretty squeamish when it comes to blood. Anyway he was in here last night while we slept. The killer was in my apartment planting Dickey’s finger. That alone is disturbing.”

“I keep telling you to lock your door.” She pulled a white six-cup teapot from the cupboard. “It’s more corny than anything else. Okay, and disgusting. But nauseous? Umm, not so much. From all I’ve read about the mob, and from hanging around with you, this seems like some kind of vendetta that we shouldn’t be involved in. I mean, we don’t have the ring, so obviously the killer is completely misguided. We just need to let him know the facts and stay out of the way. Without a body, the murder isn’t our problem.”

She busied herself with filling a tea ball with loose tea, placing it inside the teapot then pouring in the hot water.

I sighed and sat down hard on the bed. It was all getting to be too much. “And just how do we let the killer know we don’t have the ring? Stand on my front porch and yell it out?” Hello, Mr. Killer, we don’t have the ring!”

“I hadn’t thought of that one, but we could leave a note on the front door: Dear Killer, Somebody else stole your ring. Sincerely, Mia and Lisa.”

“You’re not serious.”

She found dishes and flatware in the cupboards and placed them on my counter. “Kind of, yes. What else are we supposed to do?”

“Here’s the thing. The killer is not going to believe that we don’t have it. Not in this group. Too many trust issues. Besides, you said the ring was a lead.”

“Yeah, to the killer, not a thief. This is an entirely different game now. We’re suddenly in the crosshairs and I’m not sure I’m too comfortable with that. Can’t we just forget about the whole thing and leave for Maui early?”

I tossed my clothes on the bed, got up and walked over to the small wooden table in front of a side window. Lisa busied herself setting up a tea party for two complete with anise biscotti, and warm, olive focaccia bread courtesy of Aunt Hetty who routinely brought me a tray of early morning goodies, a couple of ripe pears, deep purple grapes, several thick slices of goat cheese, honey, and a cow shaped creamer filled with warmed milk. I pulled out a chair and made myself comfortable.

“We could do that, but there are a few things that I can’t seem to let go of,” I said as she poured me a cup of steaming Palm Court tea, our favorite ever since our last trip to New York City and our visit to the Plaza Hotel where we shared high tea. Of course, I had added a couple shots of bourbon to my cup, but that was in another life.

“What’s that?” she asked as she placed the tea pot back on the table.

“Why did the killer try to set up my mom? And what makes you think Nick will give up his search for Dickey when he found fresh blood on the millstone, my mom’s handgun floating in olive oil and the two of us acting so weird? And what does it say to the family if I don’t ferret out the killer? I’ve been working hard to keep them honest for the past two years. This murder blows that right into orbit. And besides all of that, what the hell do we do with Dickey’s pinky finger?”

Lisa stirred milk and honey into her tea and looked at me as if all my worries were totally insignificant. “About the killer setting up your mom, maybe he or she didn’t actually try to set her up. Maybe the killer threw the gun in the futso because the killer didn’t know what else to do with it when we walked in. Granted, the killer used your mom’s handgun, but that’s the only gun on the land, right?”

“As far as I know, yes, but these are ex-Mafiosi. Do you really think they gave up all of their hardware? Not likely. And what about my mom’s bracelet?”

“I think that’s legitimate. Meaning that somehow it came off while she was talking to him in the barn, and it simply ended up under his feet. Total accident.”

I was skeptical, but for the sake of argument, willing to go along. For now. “Okay. I’ll accept that, but what about Nick? He’s like a bloodhound. I don’t think he’s going to stop looking for Dickey.”

She drank down some tea and smirked. “Don’t worry about Nick. He’s all mine and after one night with me he won’t even remember Dickey’s name.”

“You’re that good, huh?”

Lisa leaned back in her chair and smirked. “Better.”

I smiled as I poured milk into my tea then drank down half the cup. “One last thing, Ms Vixen, we have a bloody finger sitting in the sink, and a killer who thinks we have Dickey’s ring. What exactly do you propose we do next?”

She shrugged. “Bury the finger, and let it be known that we do not have the ring and that we’ll forget about finding Dickey’s killer. You’ll simply let this whole thing slide as long as they don’t ever kill anybody else.”

“Simple,” I said. “I slap their hands and tell them they were bad and I’m done with it.”

“Something like that, yes,” she said, in between sips of hot tea.

My stomach wasn’t buying any of this. It cramped up so tight I thought I was going to hurl my tea.

“You’re doing it,” I told her.

“Doing what?”

“Falling for the lure of the mob. This is how they suck you in. Their way seems so easy, so simple, but believe me, something always goes wrong. It may not happen right away, but eventually you end up like Dickey.”

She sipped her tea for a moment, put the cup down and stared at me, all serious. “You know everything I said was complete bullshit. We have a f*cking severed finger in your bathroom sink, a missing dead body, a murderer who thinks we have something he was willing to kill for, and a cop who smells trouble. I’m scared out of my friggin’ mind, Mia. Could it get any worse?”

That’s when we heard heavy footsteps on my stairs.





Focaccia with Olives and Salt – Level Two or Three

3 1/2 to 4 cups unbleached flour

2 1/4 tsp. active dry yeast

3/4 cup warm water (not hot to touch)

1/3 cup Italian Blend EVOO

1/3 cup dry white wine (or water depending on your resolve)

1/4 tsp. sugar

3/4 tsp. salt

2 tbs. fresh rosemary leaves, chopped

3/4 cup chunked Kalamata olives

1/4 cup chunked Toscano olives or for a more intense flavor, use Sicilian

12 halved, pitted olives (a blend of the above)



Kneading bread dough is always soothing and distracting, so take your time with this one. It’s great to make bread whenever you’re feeling especially hostile, tense or jittery. Try to focus on the dough rather than anything else.

Drop 3 1/2 cups of flour into a large bowl, add sugar, salt and half of the rosemary. Give it a quick mix with a fork. Then make a hole in the middle, building up the flour all around the sides, like the top of a volcano. Pour in 1/2 cup of the warm water into that hole, add the yeast, and stir briefly with your fork. Let stand for about 8 minutes or until it gets creamy and bubbly. Take this time to relax, breathe in the scent of the yeast, and chop the olives. When the yeast is ready add the wine, oil, and remaining water. Make sure all the liquids are warm or at room temperature or you will kill the yeast. Mix ingredients with your hands. Here comes the level three part. When you have a nice big ball, and you’ve gotten all of the mixture to come away from the sides of the bowl (this can be accomplished by adding a bit more olive oil), move the dough to a lightly floured surface and work the hell out of it until the stickiness is gone, about five or six minutes or until it turns smooth and elastic. Add the chunked olives and knead for a few more minutes. All this kneading will take about ten full, glorious minutes to accomplish. Keep adding flour as needed.

Place this beautiful ball of dough in a clean, oiled large bowl, then flip so there’s now a soft sheen of EVOO on the top of the dough. Cover with a pretty dish towel, place in a warm spot for 1 1/2 hours or until it has doubled in bulk.

During your wait, you can clean up the kitchen, make an accompanying dish, like a beautiful salad, or take a long walk. Getting physical exercise gets those positive endorphins working, which only helps with sobriety resolve.

Set oven to 450 degrees. Gently punch down the now beautifully swollen dough. Let it sit for about five more minutes. Place it on a lightly floured surface and shape into either a 3/4 inch thick rectangle or round and transfer to an oiled baking sheet. With your fingers, press down on the dough making several indentations on the surface. Brush lightly with olive oil. Press the 24 halved olives into the depressions, sprinkle on a little coarse sea salt and the remaining rosemary. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until golden browned. Remove from oven, and allow to cool for about ten minutes. Cut into squares or triangles and serve. Can be eaten warm or cold.