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Eddie awakened to the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee ambling in through the cracks of his closed bedroom door. He rose and sat on the edge of the bed, shaking the cobwebs from a restful night’s sleep.
A tinkering sound lured him to the window. He pulled up the shade and moaned. Tiny snowflakes popped like little seeds off the window and onto the street below. He shook his head, grateful for his leather jacket and fedora.
After a nice shave and shower, he dressed in the same black dress slacks from yesterday, but grabbed a warm black sweater from his nearly empty dresser drawer. Once satisfied with his appearance, he sat on the bed and made a call to Primo using the landline phone sitting on the bedside table.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“How’s my sister-in-law?” Primo asked.
“Good. Made some nice progress yesterday.”
“You find those bastards who shot up her house?”
“Yeah. Straightened their punk-asses out. Even got them to apologize.”
Primo chuckled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Pretty funny. They’re scared shitless. They’ll do whatever I want. Gonna’ get them workin’ on some leads, like you asked. Could be some promisin’ stuff here.”
“That right?”
“Yeah. I’d like to stay another week or so, feel things out. See what I can get my fingers into that’ll benefit the business.”
“Good, Eddie.”
“But Primo, one thing I need to mention.”
“What’s that?”
“Your sister-in-law wants to open an Italian restaurant here in the neighborhood.”
“Jesus Christ. She on that again?”
“Yeah. She wants me to find her a place. And then she wants help findin’ somebody to help her get it opened. I told her I had to get back to Brooklyn, but ah’, she wanted me to ask you if I could stay and help her with that.”
“What a waste-a fuckin’ money, ‘eh?”
“I mean, I agree with ya’ Primo. But maybe I could look around for a place. When I can’t find one nearby, I tell her that. Then it’s done. Off the table, right?”
“Excellent point. You’ll never find a spot in that neighborhood. I assume she insists it be near her house?”
“Yeah. She made a point-a that.”
Primo grumbled. “That’s what I figured. The woman don’t wanna’ leave that place. Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her waste her money, ya’ hear?”
“Sure thing, boss. I’ll go through the motions. Look for some spots. We’ll see what happens after that. Sound good?”
“Keep me posted.”
The phone went dead. Primo’s usual manner of saying goodbye.
Eddie hustled down the squeaky steps, his nose drawn to the coffee. He heard the rustle of paper to his right and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Micola sat at the table sipping a cup of coffee, the St. Paul paper in front of her.
She looked up at him with a grin. “Buongiorno, Eddie. How was you-rest?”
“Buongiorno. Slept great. Thanks again. It’s a lot better than that stuffy hotel, ya’ know?”
“Sì. Bene.” She smiled as she pushed herself up from the table. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He took his now-familiar seat at the table. “So, I talked to Primo this morning.”
She turned, her hand at her chest. “Primo? He say-you help me with my ristorante, Eddie?”
“Yeah. He said I could help.”
Micola looked up to the ceiling and shook her hands at the heavens.
“But, Mrs. F., do you got any idea how much this is gonna’ cost you? Cuz lemme’ tell you, it ain’t gonna’ be cheap.”
“Sí, Eddie. My husband—Vincenzo—he leave me a lotta’ money. This house? Is-all paid. I spend my money on nothing. It sits in the bank. When I die, it goes to my daughter. What good is that to me, ‘eh? Niente. Nothing.”
“Okay. I just wanna’ be sure you know what you’re gettin’ into. I mean, your food is amazin’ and I think you could make a lotta’ money. But up-front?” He twisted his mouth into a frown as he shook his head. “Very expensive, know-what-I-mean?”
She flapped her hand at him. “I don’t care about money, Eddie.”
Her words made Eddie’s heart soar.
“No? What then?”
“I always wanna’ do this, but Vincenzo—he say no. He say, his wife stay home where she belong. Then, when he die, I think—now, I do it. But my daughter? She say ‘Ma,’ you-too old.’ So?” She threw up her hands. “I forget it. I-no wanna’ fight with my daughter. So, I do nothing. Get lonely. That’s all I do.”
Eddie gave her a sad smile.
“But you, Eddie. You come-a my house. I like you.” She pointed toward the living room. “I like the music you put on. You dance with me and make me laugh. I-no laugh in a long time, Eddie. And you like my food! It makes me feel so good, you know? And my little ristorante? It make-me so excited. Is-my dream, Eddie. My dream! So I say ‘pssh’ to the money.”
Eddie sipped his coffee as Micola continued.
“Eddie. I pay you, okay?”
Eddie nearly choked.
There she goes again. I pay you ...
Easy money. Plus, he was already gettin’ paid from Primo to help her. If Micola wanted to throw him some cash, too, who was he to say no?
“That sounds real good, Mrs. F. I’ll try ta’ find you a nice place. We’ll make sure it’s just what you want. Somethin’ small, where you could cook and serve those delicious meals-a yours and share it with others—for a price, a-course.” He laughed. “Am I right?”
Micola grabbed a tissue from her apron pocket and dabbed her eyes.
“Eddie, thank you for helping me. I am so excited!”
She walked over and put her hand to his cheek.
He looked up at her from his seat, took her hand, kissed it, and winked at her. He leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Let’s do this, ‘eh?”
“Sí. Let’s do this, Eddie.”
He slapped the table. “Okay, then. I’ll make some calls to realtors and you call your banker, or whoever, to figure out how much you wanna’ spend.”
Eddie felt an exhilarated rush. He sipped the last of his coffee. “Now, I got some business-ta take care of today, but I’ll try-ta make some calls—see what’s out there for locations. We can talk about it some more after that—start makin’ plans, okay?”
He checked his watch. “Gotta’ go.”
He stood and headed down the hall. Micola followed, pulling his jacket from the closet. She handed him his hat and walked him to the door.
He smiled and grabbed her cheeks. “Excitin’, huh?”
She giggled. “Sí, Eddie. Sono molto emozionata.”
He kissed both of her cheeks. “Good. I’ll call ya’ later.”
“Okay. Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
