Beautiful turned out to be one of Anne’s favorite musicals ever. The actress playing Carole sounded just like her. Anne caught herself lip-syncing many of the songs, and tears pooled in her eyes during “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?”
Afterward, outside the theater, a cool wind stirred and rain began to fall. She started to back up under an awning and slipped on the slick sidewalk. Sergio caught her elbow, and she sang out loud, “I feel the earth move under my feet! I feel the sky tumbling down.”
The other people exiting the building stared at her.
Sergio laughed. “Let’s go, Carole. I’m starved.”
Anne smiled. “I’ve heard that before. Is Rudy’s far?”
“No. But we’ll take a cab. You wait here.”
Soon they were heading downtown in a big checkered taxi.
“Do we have reservations?” Anne brushed wet drops off the shoulders of her coat.
“They don’t take them.”
As they approached the restaurant, the “Rudy’s Bar & Grill” neon sign blinked on. A wooden facade had been built over the brick building. A kitschy sculptured pig in a red vest and bow tie smiled with a wave.
Sergio and Anne got out of the cab. A velvet rope cordoned off the entrance, and a sign said: Closed for a Special Event.
“Can’t we go in and just take a look?” Anne begged the short, skinny bouncer.
He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s a VIP reception.”
“But I found a picture of some flappers . . .”
“Excuse me.” A girl in a very short dress and very high heels pushed Anne aside and gave her name to the bouncer.
Anne looked at Sergio, and they stepped back. “Can you get us in?” she asked.
“I’ll try.”
The bouncer unleashed the rope for the girl. As she opened the door, music blasted out.
“Any chance you can find us a table?” Sergio smiled at the bouncer and tried to hand him a hundred.
He held up his hands and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“But my friend is working on some . . .”
The bouncer frowned at him. “Doesn’t matter.”
Anne didn’t want to embarrass Sergio, otherwise she would have pushed right past this scrawny guy. She could take him on any day.
Sergio walked back to her. “Sorry. I can get us in another time.” He pushed a number on his cell. “Ciao. It’s Sergio. Any reservations open for tonight?”
She could hear a male voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.
Sergio laughed, hung up, and hailed them another cab. “We’re all set,” he told her as they settled into the back seat. “Pasta is specialty of the house.”
“Perfect. I’m warning you, I’m in a slurping mood. Pootie and I used to have contests to prove who could inhale the most noodles the loudest.”
“Bella and I used to do that, too!”
“No way.” Anne punched him gently on the arm.
“I’m louder.”
“No, I am.”
In no time, they arrived in front of an old apartment complex: no sign, no nothing. The building blended in with many on the street except red geraniums bloomed in a window box.
Sergio spoke into the intercom. “Ciao!” A buzzer let them in, and they ascended the dark stairs.
“Where are we?” Anne asked.
“A secret kitchen for locals.”
She squinted at him. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“Speakeasies were secret. You’ve heard of them. And besides, you aren’t a local.”
“At least not yet,” she mumbled.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. Hopefully at dinner they would talk about her moving to New York.
They hiked up two floors, and he knocked on the door of Apartment 22.
A hefty Italian in an apron and tall chef’s hat ushered them inside. “Sergio! Pergio! It’s been a long time!” The men exchanged bear hugs.
“Cousin Connie. This is my girlfriend, Anne.”
So they were back together.
“Ana! Benvenuto.” Cousin Connie squeezed her, too—an embrace so strong she could hardly breathe. He ushered them into a room filled with empty tables covered in red-checkered cloths. Straw-covered wine bottles on each table held lit candles with dripping wax. A mural of an Italian vineyard graced one wall. Garlic permeated her senses as he led them down a narrow hall and into another room. This one with three tables must have been a bedroom at one time.
“Best seat in the casa! Or should I say, in the appartamento?”
Their small table next to a window looked down over a garden. Twinkle lights blinked on around it as the sun began to set. A Scottish terrier slept among the greens.
Connie delivered a bottle of Chianti, poured it for them, and left.
“Are you and your cousin close?” Anne asked.
“No. We don’t see each other much.”
“I don’t get to be with Pootie often, either, but we are very close.”
“Women are different.”
“That’s for sure.” Anne smiled. “Where’s the menu?”
“Connie doesn’t use one. It’s either pasta or pasta.”
“Pescatarian option?”
“I’m certain of it. Spicy or not?”
“Of course, for me the more garlic, the better. If we both have it, we can still kiss.”
“That’s important.” He took her hands and leaned toward her. “I am sooo glad you’re here.”
“Me, too. Happy birthday.” Anne nodded. She wanted to ask him if he had decided if she could move here with him, but she’d wait and see if he brought up the topic first.
Connie seated two other couples at the tables in the room. He left and returned to deliver bread to Sergio and Anne.
“What type of pasta do you have tonight?” Sergio asked.
“Mushroom Fantastico.”
“Spicy and spicy.” Sergio pointed to each of them. He chatted with his cousin, and Anne leaned back in her chair. Sergio seemed at ease in this unusual eatery; he spoke Italian using big gestures that matched Connie’s in size.
They sipped their wine slowly, and each ate a piece of melt-in-your-mouth garlic bread.
Sergio leaned across the table and took her hand again. “I’ve never met a girl like you.”
She swallowed the bread she was chewing. “I’ve never met a guy like you.”
“I need to ask you something. Please come to Italy with me. You won’t be sorry.”
But when they returned, would she just go back to San Francisco? “I need to check my finances.”
“I have miles saved up. I’ll pay for the flights, our accommodations, and meals. As I’ve told you, every artist needs to see Italy. Please come.”
Connie delivered their pasta. Sergio twisted the noodles around his fork, and so did she. Hungry, she longed to inhale it fast but took her time and slurped as loudly as possible. He laughed and noisily sucked a big mouthful of noodles in.
The people at the other tables gaped at them.
“I was the loudest!” Sergio yelled with his fist lifted toward the ceiling.
“No, I was!” Anne put her hand on her hip.
“No, I was!”
A man from the next table leaned over. “She was!” He raised his glass at Anne and turned back to his frowning wife. Her pinched mouth made her seem like a reincarnation of Mrs. Astor.
Anne stuffed a piece of garlic bread in her mouth and stared at the woman.
Sergio put his hand over his eyes.
The man laughed, used a bit of bread to soak up some of the sauce from the edge of his plate, and stuffed it in his mouth, too.
His wife glared at him. “Take me home.” She stood up and strode off.
He shrugged, took another bite off his plate, got up, and followed her.
A few minutes later, Connie slid a check next to Sergio. “Cousin, you need to go.”
“But we haven’t had our tiramisu yet,” Anne pouted.
Sergio looked at the other couple in the room. They turned their heads away.
“Okay. Sorry!” Sergio left cash on the table and helped Anne put on her coat.
“I didn’t mean to get us kicked out.”
Sergio laughed. “It was worth it! Connie will forgive me.”
“I doubt it.”
“He will. We’re family. I want to get home early anyway.”
“Why?”
“I need time to convince you to come with me to Italy this summer.” He pulled her to him and landed a big garlicky kiss on her lips.