“The food is good here.”
“I think your friend Gino thought I was here to apply for a job in the kitchen.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“Funny thing. I could work in that kitchen now. I know my way around Italian cuisine.”
“Years around the Palazzinis.”
“You could say that, but not really. I stayed to myself over at the garage, except for the times I took care of you at the house.”
“You took care of me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was I a good kid?”
“Better than your cousins. I thought those boys would end up in prison. They would not follow instructions.”
“What do you remember about my mother?”
“She was a lovely person.” Hortense closed the menu. “Very kind. I would say she was the prettier of the two sisters, and had the better figure. Jo leans to the stocky, if you know what I mean. Your mother was more graceful. And the face—she had a very sweet countenance. And good teeth.”
“Do you remember when she died?”
“It was a long illness. You know, when an illness goes on and on, you don’t think that the person will pass. She fought hard because she didn’t want to leave you behind. That was her only worry. You were everything to her.”
“Where was I when she died?”
“You were in the room with her.”
“I was?”
“You had a day bed in her room. Do you remember that?”
Nicky nodded that he did.
“You were asleep. It was night, almost morning. Mrs. Palazzini called me because she didn’t want to leave the children alone when she went with her husband to take your mother to the hospital. I went right over. When I got there, Mike and Nancy had arrived. Her boys were all over the place, one slept on the couch, the other two on chairs. You slept through everything. I went upstairs when they took your mother out of the room.”
“They left me there?”
“I was with you. And when you woke up, you asked for her. And I didn’t know what to tell you, but I could see, even though you were only a little boy, you knew. So I told you the truth, that she had passed but she was in heaven, and now she was everywhere.”
“Did I believe you?”
“I don’t know. Did you?”
“I guess I had to.”
“So I picked up a book and read to you. That made you feel better.”
“I wish I could remember more.” Nicky straightened his necktie.
“Your mother did come to see me at the office a few months before she passed. She said she was looking for her sister, but I knew better. She needed to talk to me alone. She knew that I did the books, so she wanted to make sure that you got everything you needed. She gave me her bank account number. And I took all the information down, and she sat with me awhile, we talked about my girls. She was interested in them too. When she got up to leave, she said, ‘Mrs. Mooney, I know this is asking a lot, but will you watch out for Nicholas?’ That’s what she called you. She said 810 Montrose was a zoo, and she was afraid you’d get lost in the commotion over there. And I told her that I would.”
“And you have.”
“Why else would a sane woman agree to pose as Eleanor Roosevelt’s attaché in Roseto, Pennsylvania? I only did it because I promised your mother I would look out for you.”
“Here I thought it was because you believed in my acting skills. Do you drink?” Nicky offered Hortense the wine.
“The occasional nip.”
Nicky poured Hortense, then himself, a glass of wine. They toasted and sipped.
“Have you met a nice young lady from a good family yet?”
“I can’t do two things at once.”
“Work and a social life?”
“No, nice lady from a good family. It’s either one or the other, never both.”
“I saw Peachy DePino. She had her baby. A boy.”
“Good for her.”
“I didn’t recognize her. A lot of baby weight, even though the baby was in the pram.” Hortense shook her head.
“I can’t imagine Peachy heavy.”
“You don’t have to. You can see it plain. Of course, some of it’s baby and will come off, and the rest is cannoli filling. According to your cousin Mabel.”
“I’m happy for Peachy.”
“I told you that would all work out. Every heel finds its shoe.”
“You never said that. You just said don’t marry her.”
“Same thing. You ever hear from Mamie?”
“No.”
“But you made it all square with her, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Would you like to see her again?”
“I got her to her destination.”
“When she got there, did you have any feelings for her?”
“You never forget the person that healed you.”
“Or the one that made you rich. Minna was an angel. And I guess now that she’s gone, there’s no need to go back to Roseto. I have no reason, no excuse. Well, maybe I’ll slip down and go to the cemetery sometime. Italians and Baptists think that’s important, so I’ll do that.”
“Why do you think she gave you the recipe?”
“I don’t know. I think about that sometimes. She believed that the most important thing was—” Hortense rapped on the table, “This.”
“La tavola.” Nicky toasted Hortense with his wine glass.
“Right. Minna said anything of importance in a family happened right here.”
“So this is a good place to bring up my problem.”
“How can I help you?”
“I’m making money.”
“Where’s the problem in that?”
“I didn’t think about getting paid, when I got on television. I just thought about the job and loving the work. And it turns out that being happy brought the money.”
“Minna told me that one leads to the other. Happy leads to money but never money to happy.”
“Money can bring out the worst in people.”
“It can. When money is the goal. When Minna died, she left all her money to the church. Nobody had any idea how much she had, but it was a lot. She kept it in a bank in New Jersey. She felt if anybody in Roseto knew she had a few bucks, they might treat her differently. So she never told them she was rich. I thought that was odd. Why not be proud of the money you earned? So I went to the library to see if they had a book on the subject. I wanted to understand how to keep my head if I got rich. Now, when I go to the library, they don’t let us into the Main Branch stacks, we have to go in the back to a room designated for colored folks. We don’t get a good selection. But sometimes they trip up, and a good book gets through and I grab it.”