A Pinch of Cool

Rita was the kind of mom every girl dreamed of, loving, beautiful and totally her own woman. It had always been just Mya and her mom. Her dad had died soon after she was born, so Mya hadn’t ever known her real father, just Franko. Rita owned several small businesses and some prime real estate, ran their house and looked amazingly young for her fifty-three years. She just needed a little boost to that incredible look of hers.

Franko had his back to her, stirring something in the corner of the kitchen. He wore a large white apron over his casual clothes, just like Emeril. Actually, Franko looked a little like Emeril, with his stocky build and black, perfectly combed hair. But Franko had a gorgeous smile, no doubt where Eric got his smile from, that he was quick to share for almost any reason. Franko was one of those content, happy men who never seemed to worry about anything.

“Ciao, bella,” he said as he turned to face Mya, his hands in the air, beaming as if he were truly surprised to see her. Franko had come over from Italy when he was just nineteen and never really lost his fabulous accent. Thus the reason he and Rita had been so successful. She was his American voice.

Mya was surprised at her reaction to seeing him. A thrill raced over her. Franko had virtually raised her as his own daughter, and Mya loved him for it. The only thing that kept her from calling him Dad was a lack of a marriage certificate between him and her mom.

“Ciao, bello,” Mya echoed and held out her arms as well. She loved to be hugged by Franko. He made her feel safe and warm and he smelled of anisette, one of her favorite liqueurs.

“You look’a like the queen,” he announced while they embraced.

“The queen of what?” Mya asked as she pulled away from him and gazed into his smiling face. She loved his rugged Italian face, full of love and compassion, and excitement. He had a dimple in each cheek, and a broad forehead and sparkling almond eyes.

“The queen of’a my heart.”

She melted back into his embrace for a few seconds longer. “What more could a girl want?”

“A FANCY DINNER DRESS,” Grammy Strano repeated as she scooped a few more clams into her dish. The two families had gathered around Rita’s long dinner table, and Grammy was busy giving a lecture on dinner etiquette. She still wore her golden hair in a stylish page-boy, and wore pink cat-eye glasses with rhinestones embedded in the corners. She kept her weight just under slim, had silky, olive-colored skin and a smile that was contagious. “In my day, the women came to the dinner table dressed in gowns and the men wore suits. None of this shorts business.”

She sat next to Eric and gazed down at his legs, scolding him with her eyes. Then she addressed the rest of the group around the table. Grammy liked being the center of attention, and always spoke her mind. “Dinner was an event. Then after dinner somebody would sing or play an instrument.”

“I can play chopsticks on the piano,” Eric announced.

“Great! Why don’t you play it for us after dinner,” Grammy urged, as she tucked a lace hankie down the front of her silver gown. She wore one of the many dresses she had designed for various movie stars during the forties and fifties. Lucille Marie Nudi had been one of the top fashion designers in Hollywood. She still clung to the notion that a woman needed to wear a hat and gloves every time she left the house and, apparently, a ball gown at dinner.

“Ma, we don’t have a piano,” Rita offered.

“Why not? With all your money, you’d think you could buy this boy a stinking piano so we could have some entertainment once in awhile.”

Mya tried to make Grammy understand the situation. The poor woman was obviously losing her memory. “Eric lives in Georgia, Gram.”

“I know that,” she said curtly, then turned to Eric and asked, “Did you bring your piano?”

“No, but I brought my dog.”

The dog from hell.

“Does he do any tricks?”

Let me tell you about the little trick he did in front of a truck today.

“He can twirl a basketball on his nose.”

Mya sat back to listen. This was getting good.

“That’ll do. Now I can eat knowing that after dinner we have entertainment. I’ve got a nice suit upstairs in my office that I designed for Clark Gable. You can wear that.”

“It would be my honor,” Eric said, giving a little bow. If you wanted to win Grammy’s approval, all anybody had to do was agree with her outrageous ideas. Eric seemed to know just what it took, because Grammy beamed from ear to ear.

All of this sucking up was temporary and he would be leaving right after the dog show.

The dinner table was covered from one side to the other with plates of enticing food. Both Rita and Franko had outdone themselves with culinary treats: pasta with clams, cockles and mussels in a wine, garlic and butter sauce; a sweet-pepper and leek tart; penne with broccoli, anchovies and raisins; homemade focaccia with tomatoes and fresh basil; roasted leg of lamb stuffed with artichokes; a zucchini flan and several bottles of Italian red and white wines.

“I’ve got some fantastic ideas of how to recreate the show,” Mya announced during a break in the conversation. “I was thinking of a more colorful set. Something along the lines of what’s happening in modern Italy. You need to appeal to a younger audience. The nineteen to thirty-five group. We might even do some shows to target teens. We need to sparkle to appeal to the ‘now generation.’ Maybe add some reds and oranges to the set to go with the kinds of food that are easy, healthy and visually exciting. I think you need to cook some exciting entrées with more panache, more flair for the daring.

“And, Mom, I’ve planned a makeover for you. Nothing drastic, just a little younger look. You too, Franko. It’s time to get rid of your white apron for simple slacks and a printed shirt. Maybe some sideburns and product in your hair to give it that edge everyone seems to be after.”

Everyone fell silent at the table.

Probably too excited to speak.

She knew she had totally captivated them with her incredibly savvy ideas. That it wouldn’t take long for them to actually stand up and applaud or throw flowers…or maybe not.

“Maybe this is good. I don’t know, but we should hear what my Eric, he has to say,” Franko added.

“Eric?” Mya said, completely thrown off course.

“Yes, dear,” Rita said. “Eric is going to help you. Won’t it be nice with you two working together again? Just like when you were kids. I think it’s a heavenly idea. Don’t you, dear?” Rita waited for Mya to answer. Franko waited for Mya to answer. Grammy waited. Even Eric waited for an answer.

And during that moment of anticipation, Voodoo barked and something crashed in the kitchen.

At least that dog was good for something.

4

“THIS DOG, HE HAS the good taste,” Franko announced as everyone watched Voodoo consume the last bites of what had to be a perfect peach-and-raspberry tart.