A Taste Of Pleasure

Because your mother needs to protect her image. Dani hadn’t known what that meant, she’d just known Mom meant business.

As the pair ran unnoticed into the dressing room, Dani thought of the whole thing as a game. But when Dani had laughed a little too loud, she had seen that look on her mother’s face and shut it down. Dani didn’t know how long she had been in the dressing room by herself, but the thought of the cameras was too enticing. She’d tiptoed behind some tall equipment in her little Keds and ran into a king’s spread of food. Sandwiches, cheeses, grapes and...cookies!

Dani was stretched over the lip of the table when her mother’s makeup artist had found her with her fingers curled around a macaroon.

Bella? Dov’è tua madre? Dani had turned to run but she knocked over a microphone stand. Francesca, do you know this child? I asked her where is her mother, but I think she’s mute.

Heads swiveled between Dani and her mother. The little girl flinched when Francesca’s eyes sparked with split-second rage. Her mother turned to her makeup artist.

Robbie, do I look like I’ve had a child?

Roberto waved his brushes in the air. Of course not. I doubt your baby would be so...robust.

The room laughed.

That is just baby weight, her mother had quipped, but... I’m sure she must be with one of the production managers or something. She’d narrowed her eyes at Dani. Would you like an autograph, sweetie? How about you sit quietly in my chair over there and I’ll give you one when I’m done. Okay?

Roberto had left Dani by the table. You are so charitable, Francesca.

I try to give back whenever I can, Robbie.

Never would Dani forget that day, or ask to go to work with her mother again. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, maybe this time it would be fun.

“You’ll be able to see Marcello,” Francesca sighed. Dani heard the jealous sound of her mother’s voice. Not long after Dani’s first and last time going to a photo shoot, her mother again couldn’t find a sitter, and dropped Dani off in the hotel restaurant.

Chef Marcello Farina, her old mentor and owner of three-Michelin-star rated Via Carciofo where she trained, had found her in the corner, put her in a white coat and gave her odd jobs around the kitchen. She had loved it. Marcello was like a second father, and probably the reason she was a chef.

“Just say yes already. I have to sleep,” Dani’s mother said at the tail end of a yawn.

Maybe talking to Marcello would give her some perspective, Dani thought. What could it hurt? “Okay, I’ll go.”

Chapter 4 (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)

New York

Toni sank into the back seat of the car service and watched out the window as they sped up the West Side Highway. The call he’d gotten from Louis, the manager of his Upper West Side warehouse, had been frantic, making it necessary for him to interrupt his trip to JFK Airport. He checked his Omega timepiece and estimated that he had a little over an hour to fly standby on the next flight.

Street vendors doled out coffee to groggy workers while children were dragged by the hand into prestigious-looking school buildings. It was a sharp contrast to the slick glittering nightlife where the drinks were just as cool as the people. He sighed, disappointed that he had to cut his trip short.

He’d called his daughter yesterday to wish her a good night and found that his ex-wife had left Sophia home alone again. Yes, at thirteen years old his daughter could take care of herself, but it was the way she was taking care of herself that worried him. A boy had answered Sophia’s phone when he’d called.

Since he’d moved out over a year ago, she stayed with him every other week, which gave him limited glimpses into her life. The weeks she was with him she was an angel—if teenagers could ever be angels. She was safe and out of trouble at least. But the weeks with her mother, like this week, had become increasingly problematic. He blamed it on Ava’s new boyfriend and her penchant for going out more than staying home.

The second the call picked up he’d heard a chorus of “shhhs” followed by the lowering of music. She had been having a party. Girlfriends doing makeup and watching movies, he presumed. Then a deep voice said her name. He recalled the conversation like it was happening all over again.

“Papà?” Her voice was apprehensive.

“Why is a boy answering your phone?”

“He was just being stupid, Papà. It’s not what you think.”

“It better not be what I think, Sophia. Where’s your mother?”

“Um—” giggles in the background “—upstairs in the bath?”

“Go get her.”

“She’ll be mad if I interrupt.”

“Stop lying to me. I’m calling her right now.”

“No, don’t! Okay, she’s not here. She’s out with Bruno. But she’ll be back later. I’m fine.”

“Who is there watching you?”

“I don’t need a chaperone, Papà. It’s just a few friends, we’re watching a scary movie.”

“You hate scary movies.”

“Not anymore.” He bet that boy just loved scary movies.

“I want everyone out of that house and I’m sending Nonna to check on you,” he said over her whining protests. “I’m coming home tomorrow and we are going to discuss this with your mother when I get back.”

After a quick call to his mother, she agreed to drive the twenty minutes from her country home into the city. He sent a scathing text to Ava and received no response. Yeah, the three of them were going to have a serious sit-down when he got home. Toni sighed his frustration just as the car pulled into the shipping lot behind the warehouse. He jumped out and quickly crossed to the large building.

Toni heard the echo of the argument the minute he walked through the freight entrance. Skirting trucks and small forklifts, he propped his bags on a tall stack of wine crates and shouted hello to the operations manager, who stopped his crate packing and jerked his head in the direction of the commotion. Toni quickened his pace to the front of the store.

Andrea Gomez of Star restaurant group had shown up expectantly without an appointment and, by the way her voice was rising, seemingly irate. Toni stopped just at the threshold to button his suit jacket, then realized with a sigh that he wasn’t wearing it, opting for only a navy T-shirt and trousers for his trip back to Milan.

He debated running back to the town car sitting idle in the shipping lot, then thought against it. There was no time. He needed to catch that earlier flight, needed to get home to his daughter. A shrill female voice pulled him over the threshold into their show and tasting room.

“Do you hear what I’m saying? I’ll pay retail if I have to, just get me something that won’t embarrass me!” Andrea’s hair was wild and she had both of her hands on the counter as if she was going to jump over it. The wineglasses lined up on the tasting bar trembled, as did Louis, who had taken a step back and was clutching the bottle in his hand like a life raft.

“Andrea,” Toni said, his arms wide and voice jubilant, making sure to pronounce her name with extra Italian flair. “On-drea-uh,” a sexier spin on the American “Ann-dree-uh.” He kissed her on both cheeks.

“Antonio! Oh, I had no idea you were in town.” Andrea immediately straightened and jammed her fingers through her hair.

Louis visibly relaxed.

“When I heard you were here, I had to come. You look ravishing.” Andrea’s lids fluttered and she shifted nervously in her big coat, sweatpants and Uggs. It was almost 10 a.m. and Toni could only assume Andrea was not having a good morning.

Toni took her shaky hand in his, steadying her erratic behavior and demonstrating that the drunken kiss she’d laid on him several months ago at a wine conference in Verona did nothing to harm their business relationship. Not that he would have minded a night with her, but he never mixed business with pleasure. “I was only here a few days. I’m on a flight back this morning. Now, bella, what has happened that has you in such a state?” He was laying it on thick, but if he was going to get this done in ten minutes, he needed her attention.

“I’m hosting a wedding tonight for the mayor’s daughter at John-Duc and those Figgertons sent me cases of spoiled wines. They are like vinegar! This is the mayor’s daughter—it could ruin me!” Andrea’s face reddened with every word.

Toni knew the Figgertons well. A distributor of self-proclaimed “elegant” wines from smaller less known vineyards. Which appealed to a hipster sensibility of indie winemaking, but Toni knew it really meant the wines were less traceable, amateur at best and definitely not worth the price he knew Andrea had paid.

“You know I would have come to you, Toni, but she’s a vegan hippie and insisted on small vineyards, as if this woman knows anything about wine, and—”