Piazza Bella - Aperitivo X
Serendipity
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“Chef, they say your boyfriend arrives tomorrow?”
“They say too much, Angelo. You are pure of heart and should not listen to the others.”
I was helping my favorite station shuck oysters and filet a few sea bass because we’d had a run on those menu items. The guys were proficient because Luca loaned them to the fish market for a month when they started at the Trattoria.
“What was the market like, Angelo?”
“Magnificent, chef. I love the people there, even the grumpy ones. They taught well, and it was hard work. They tried to teach Sebastien and me how to swear, but we don’t like it.”
“Everyone swears.”
“Not my mother. She doesn’t want me to swear.”
Most of the kitchen brigade had been lightly teasing me or offering smiles of encouragement. Everyone in our Trattoria seemed invested in each other’s private lives, hoping for successful outcomes that might cross-contaminate their own.
It’s also a fact that kitchen teams become closely knit because they share success and failure at a very personal level, work almost non-stop and for long hours, with few interests outside of food.
Sam had blabbed my news about Liam, partly annoyed at her close call with Bella over Margarita but mostly because she wanted to get me out of the kitchen by force of my colleagues pressing me to leave. Liam was arriving during my two-day break, but given the bombshell news Luca had dropped, it felt wrong to take my time off.
I strolled around the piazza after evening service with Sam, shaking off a shift that had been hard work.
“Don’t you tire of it, Carla?”
“The kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
"Never. Today was shitty because there were customers all wanting the same dish, returned food, and too many mistakes. You have to grind out these days because, in the end, you become better."
“Yeah, but I’d rather run the cafe.”
“On that subject. What’s your plan?”
“Do you want me to leave already?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I was joking, Carla. What’s gotten into you?”
“Sorry, just ignore me because I’m a bit frayed, babe, and not looking forward to Liam arriving tomorrow. I’m worried about Luca and you too. And then there’s Angelo.”
“Hold on, that’s a lot of worry right there. Let’s get back to the others later. Tell me, what’s up with Angelo? He’s a sweet kid.”
“He arrived this morning with a black eye. It was hardly noticeable, but I saw it.”
“He’s just turned seventeen, babe. What do you expect?”
“I can’t see why anyone might fight him, and he has no spiteful bone in his body.”
“Oh fucking come on, Carla. I’m sure he’s fine and probably just walked into something. You should ask him before the morning shift while you inspect him.”
“Maybe, but he covered it up with some foundation.”
“I don’t see what’s so suspicious in that, Carla. As for the rest of your woes, you can handle Liam by sending him to the friend zone if that relationship isn’t heading for the bedroom. Luca’s problem is shelved until two weeks, and I’m easy to deal with.”
“Too fucking easy the other night, babe, to be honest.”
“Carla Keady! When did you become so judgemental?”
She chased me around the piazza, and although Sam was improving her fitness on our morning runs, she was no match. I turned and beckoned teasingly until my Croc shoes clipped a paving slab, and I tumbled backward, laughing.
Sam sat beside me, checking my head for a cut and some blood, while I lay back resting.
“Are you really worried about me, Carla?”
“Of course, Sam. I love you. Not the way Margarita does, but you are woven into the tapestry of my life. I want good things to happen for you.”
She paused momentarily, gathering her thoughts, and I knew she had some news that concerned her. I waited for Sam to spit it out on her own, knowing what a stubborn mule she was when pressed.
“I messaged Paul today.”
“Oh.”
“Just to ask about whether I might move here with the kids. I thought about what you said.”
“What was his response?”
“He wants to visit me here and talk it through.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either. He apologized for leaving me and asked how I was.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I found someone else and want him to be happy.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, babe. Life is too short for bitterness, and I don’t want to lie to Paul and the kids. Bella and Luca have perfectly demonstrated the damage poor communication causes.”
“It’s very mature of you. Can I ask, though? Are you in love with Margarita?”
She thought about it, reaching a hand to mine, entwining our fingers before squeezing mine tight.
“I believe I am. It feels real, but I can’t be certain. I’m too soon out from under Paul. When he visits, I guess I’ll know better.”
“She’s nice, and I think you guys make a fantastic couple.”
“We didn’t make love yet. It was just that one time we got frisky when you and Bella saw us fooling around.”
“Why not yet, Sam?”
“I don’t know. I guess the timing hasn’t worked out yet.”
“I’ll buy you another Percy Jackson. You’ll be needing one again soon.”
“They have bespoke dildo makers here in Venice. Margarita suggested we go for a fitting sometime just for fun. She wants to make love but understands I need time.”
“How fucking decadent is that of her?”
We loitered until midnight, just lying around on the cooling paving slabs, not caring that they might be covered in pigeon shit. The stars shone brightly, I was with my best friend, and nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing except Angelo, because I really liked him and he worried me.
We leaned against each other, half asleep, walking home. When we reached the Trattoria side entrance, I saw the burning embers of a cigarette in the darkness.
“You go on ahead, Sam. I’ll catch up.”
I sidled up to Bella and sat on the wall next to her. No words passed between us for a few minutes because she was savoring a joint, and I wanted her to know that my friendship surpassed a need for unnecessary conversation.
“He is an amazing chef, Carla.”
“Yes, he is. Your mom thought so, too.”
“How do you know?”
“She wrote about both of you in the margins of her recipes.”
“Yeah. Mom loved him right enough. She said Luca was a good boy when he first came looking for cleaning work at the back door. Her cookbooks are incredible, right?”
I nodded. Bella’s family cooking legacy was extraordinary; now, I was part of it. She tapped her ash into the canal behind and sniggered.
“What’s funny?”
“How long will it take for Sam to turn up in Margarita’s bed or vice versa?”
“Oh god, you knew?”
She roared with laughter, elbowing me in the ribs.
“Oh, come on. I’m Italian, a woman; I’ve had female lovers and can read faces. You must have known I could see through your collective bullshit this morning?”
“I think it's really great. Sam is admirable, and I only feel positivity about Margarita.”
“I agree. The Trattoria is a better place for both of you and my sister-in-law. But what of you, dear Carla?”
“You mean Liam?”
“Yeah, you don’t mention it, so I never ask. He’s out there, Luca told me; even so, you are quiet.”
“I don’t know him; honestly, I just want to focus on being a great chef.”
“You already did that. Before you came here, you were a great chef. Venice is not only about being a great chef for you. It’s also about your inner passion.”
“Do you think I need someone?”
“No. I didn’t mean that.”
We fell silent again, and Bella flicked the dying butt of her menthol joint into the canal.
“The city council would hang me if they saw what I do.”
“I doubt it. You could poison them.”
She leaped off the wall, landing silently on the floor. When Bella turned to face me, she took both my hands and kissed my cheeks.
“I’m going upstairs to the man who keeps me warm at night. I hope one day you will find someone perfect for you and do the same.”
“Goodnight, Bella.”
“God bless, Carla.”
Sam had already sneaked off to bed when I poured a glass of lemon-flavored water and sat at the breakfast bar to read a few recipes. The interesting thing about many of Mama’s books was the amount of background context each contained. Her life history was scribbled like a journal across thousands of pages in hundreds of books, like a treasure that emerged from the texts if you let them.
I slept well, snuggled into Sam, wondering how long it would be before Margarita rightfully replaced me. She slept soundly; I knew that was because her husband was willing to discuss her future away from New York.
In the morning, I slipped away for a run alone. Dragging Sam out with me had been about stopping her from self-pity, but it seemed she’d gripped her life and didn’t need my mollycoddling.
I picked up my pace, running along Fondamenta Zattere al Ponte Longo. The famous and fabulous promenade edges the main island side of the Canale della Giudecca. A row of brightly colored shops and eateries with apartments above them ran in a wonky line on my left, looking out onto a wide canal with dozens of docking poles slammed into the seabed to my right.
Fisherfolk returning, gondola and water taxi pilots delivering, and the much larger water busses precariously dropping hop-on and off passengers excited me. The water traffic in Venice is like any busy London or New York street during the early morning rush.
The smells along my route range from delicious kitchen prep to yesterday's u-bend blockage. The sounds of a city rising are never dull, and you must always be ready to leap a trolley or dodge someone coming the other way.
Which I wasn’t.
“Holy shit. Watch where you’re going, woman.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You fucking should be lady. I could have seriously hurt you.”
“I’m the one lying on the floor.”
“Yeah, because you are a fucking crazy woman. Fucking tourists are everywhere.”
“I’m not a tourist, but you’re a vulgar man.”
I’d tried to avoid his trolley as it shot out of the door to a small cafe, but I couldn’t. An offensive, rude, but otherwise handsome Italian guy had emerged quickly, looking only for walkers. I could have blamed him for not taking better care, but there seemed little point.
“Are you going to help me up?”
“Oh, yes. Okay, sorry.”
He reached out a hand, and I saw his expression flicker. Fear suddenly crossed his face, and he seemed desperate to escape me. I dusted myself down and stood in his way while the man swayed uneasily from one foot to another.
“Hey, Salvatore. What’s keeping you out there?”
“Nothing mama. I’m just loading up now.”
I had a wicked moment, realizing there was some fun to be had.
“Does Mama know you swear?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t these days?”
“It’s true, but does Mama know you swear and knock down innocent women that you are rude to.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
The fear in his eyes was palpable. Bella had told me that if you want to terrorize an Italian man, threaten him with his mama.
“I might just get down on the floor again and scream.”
“I helped you up. Why would you do that to me?”
“Apologize to me then.”
“What for?”
“Okay, don’t.”
I went to sidestep Salvatore as though I would walk into his cafe to speak with his mama, and he backed off with both palms facing me, looking horrified.
“Okay, okay. You win. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
His expression changed, and a mischievous grin replaced anger.
“I should have looked around better for tourist runners.”
“And?”
“And… maybe I swore too much.”
“Maybe?”
I glared at him, having more fun teasing the poor man than anything else in days. Salvatore was so easy to play. If I hadn’t had a cafe to help open, I might have stayed all day. He looked exasperated, leaned on his trolley, and gave me his most charming and apologetic boyish look.
“Okay, I swore at you, a lady. Mama hates it when I do that. I’m sorry… are you happy now? Can we part as friends?”
“What else?”
“Umm, I don’t know?”
“Look, Mama won’t wait long, and if this is how you apologize to a girl for running her down, terrifying the life out of her, then deeply offending, then I just… well maybe, I should just-”
“Okay. I disrespected you, and I’m sorry.”
“Are you, really? Sorry, I mean?”
“Yes, I am.”
He really did look sorry. Salvatore wasn’t trying to sneak past me anymore. He didn’t seem to care if his mother would charge through the door, demanding to know where he was. Having calmed down, it seemed all he wanted was to repair his reputation with a girl.
We eyeballed each other, and there came a moment when he wasn’t sure what my next move might be.
“Okay. I’m good. I’ll see you around.”
I ran away, smiling cheekily at the fun I’d extracted from what was truly an accident. I heard Salvatore shout after me and turned around, running backward a few steps.
“Where are you staying?”
“I’m a local.”
I turned around and sprinted away, in the highest spirits I’d enjoyed since Luca’s news. Machiavelli would have been proud of me, and being credited as a philosopher was apt today with the arrival of Liam.
Bella and Sam were heaving the tables and chairs when I broke into a jog at the end of my circuitous route. I was sweating like a racehorse after winning the Derby and probably equally loaded up with hormones.
“You’re late this morning. Was it a longer route?”
“No, I had a moment. That is all, Bella.”
I strolled towards them, ready to help and aiming for a stack of chairs while catching my breath. Bella nudged Sam, offering her a somewhat lewd smile.
“Do you hear that, Sam? Carla had a moment.”
“Yeah. Trying to extract more from her will be like squeezing an olive, Bella.”
“You mean, do it gently?”
“Exactly.”
“Like you and Margarita the other night in the shadows?”
“Oh, fuck!”
Sam was like the proverbial rabbit caught in headlights and unsure which side of the path to reach for to hide. I had to sit down because laughter consumed me completely. Bella looked like the school headmistress demanding to know who threw the ball at a broken window.
“I was going to mention it, honestly.”
“When?”
“Soon, honestly. I swear, Bella.”
“So, will you be honest from now on, Sam?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Tell me then. Are you in love with my sister-in-law?”
“Oh, that’s not fair.”
“You said you’d be honest. If we four girls can't do that for each other, maybe it’s time to sell Bella Trattoria and move away.”
The teasing and banter continued until we sat around our table with a cappuccino, some water for me, and toast with heaps of homemade strawberry jam. I was still chuckling when Margarita slid into her usual chair.
“What’s funny?”
Bella and I shot each other a mischievous look. I had to cover my mouth with one hand to avoid spraying toasted crumbs on everyone and choked instead.
To her credit, Sam got in before any more hilarity could be had at either her or her lover’s expense.
“They know about us, babe.”
Margarita’s face went white.
“How?”
“These two were fornicating in the darkness the other night while we sat in the shadows. They saw you leaving the piazza. I was exposed by Carla the same night, betrayed by a beautiful Barolo.”
She reached her hand to Margarita’s and gripped it tightly. My heart soared, and I saw Bella looked happy, too. She shook her head and blew them a kiss.
“I wish you guys all my love and the most extraordinary luck in the world.”
Margarita perked up, and I thought perhaps Sam’s acknowledgment of their romance helped her.
“It’s early days, but I think we’re happy, right Sam.”
“Very happy, sweetheart.”
“Maybe you should stay with me tonight, Sam. Liam might need some space at Carla’s, and I’m not sure my girlfriend should be tarnished by such lewd behavior.”
It was my turn to tease, which made me happy because such behavior compliments the strength of a friendship. Thoughts of mysterious, boyish, charming Salvatore obscured my thoughts of Liam and his arrival later. It had been a long time since any man affected me that way. Liam hadn’t, and that was something to consider.
After I showered and changed, I went downstairs and saw Carla’s students, as my two favorite young men wished to be known. When they saw me, both snapped to attention.
“Ciao chef.”
“Ciao Angelo, Ciao Sebastien.”
“We know what Friday is, chef.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes.”
“How did you discover it?”
“Research, chef. It wasn’t hard when we narrowed it down to things that are important to you and linked to Venice, specifically this Trattoria.”
“Have you told anyone else, Angelo? Or perhaps you, Sebastien?”
“Not a word, chef. Our lips are sealed.”
He drew a zip across his lips and crossed his heart. It was a sweet mockery typical of their solid, honest sense of humor. I’d got to know the guys reasonably well, liking their discipline and hard work ethic. The bruise under Angelo’s eye troubled me still, but I didn’t probe.
“How is your surprise coming along?”
“The salmon looks great, but we didn’t taste it yet.”
“Okay. Keep the secret and be ready to present it for after service on Friday.”
“Yes, Chef!”
I couldn’t contain myself all day, wondering if agreeing to have Liam meet me at the Trattoria was wise. Bella told me I could get off early, so I headed up for a shower and changed around 8 p.m. for a 9:30 p.m. liaison.
I’d groomed myself and doubled down by shaving my legs twice; I don’t know why because once was always enough. I dabbed some of Mama’s unknown variety eau de toilette from an antique scent bottle, then opened the window to let air in because I felt hot and bothered.
I considered masturbation to make sure I didn’t succumb to Liam’s charms and do something silly while riding a hormonal tsunami, but there was no time.
I leaned out the window and saw Liam approach, so I watched for a while. I hadn’t realized how tall or handsome he was when we’d last met. I knew Venice had a conspiratorial way of bringing lovers together, so I shook off any notion of romance.
It’s just a meeting with a friend over coffee.
I heard him ask someone at the front door for me by name.
“No, sorry. I don’t know anyone named Carla.”
“She’s a chef here. Trattoria Bella.”
“I’m Bella, and I don’t employ anyone named Carla. Maybe it’s one of the girls across the piazza.”
“You mean in the cafe?”
“Above it. There are working girls who ply their trade upstairs. They lie with the fishermen at night. Maybe Carla is there.”
I almost fell down the stairs, racing to his rescue. My sprint through the kitchen and a slide across the wooden floor of our dining room culminated in me stumbling through the front door of the Trattoria, barreling into Bella.
“Ahh, did you mean this, Carla?”
“Yes.”
He laughed, and so did Bella, who winked, nudging me on the way past, whispering.
“I like.”
“Hi, Liam. How’ve you been?”
“I’m great. Just recovering from the thoughts of rescuing you out of a brothel.”
“C’mon. I know a great cafe not far away run by an American. We’ll get sanity there, I’m sure.”
Bella stood in her Trattoria’s front doorway, looking for all the world like the reigning matriarch of a fabulous multi-generational Venetian Trattoria. As I glanced back, I saw Luca join her, encircling his arms around the wife he loved and kissing her neck.
They both waved, and I knew that now, at this moment in my life, I was more prosperous than any fortune could make me.
Next Chapter:
This simply gets better episode by episode Kate. There is lots of sexual tension there, but not as overt as in a lot of your other work. This series deserves more prominence, because I feel it might appeal to a different audience from your normal readership.