Worst Fears Realized

58

DOLCE WALKED IN CARRYING TWO LARGE bags filled with groceries. She pecked him on the lips, handed him the bags, then walked around the living room, assessing the place. “This is nice,” she said, finally. “A little gloomy, maybe; could use some color, but it has good bones.”

“Let me show you the kitchen,” Stone said, leading the way.

She liked the kitchen better. “A girl could do good work here,” she said. “You got all the right appliances; how’d you know about that?”

“I cook a little,” Stone replied, setting down the groceries. “Can I get you a drink?”

“A little Strega, maybe.”

“Ah, I don’t have any Strega, I’m afraid.”

“Stone, you’re seeing an Italian girl, now; stock up.”

“I do have some very good olive oil.”

“Never drink it; how about a good single-malt scotch? Is that whitebread enough for you?”

“I’ve got a Laphroaig,” Stone said, looking through the kitchen liquor cabinet, “or a Glenlivet, or a Dalwhinney.”

“The Laphroaig, please; no ice, just a little cold water.”

Stone did as she asked.

She sipped the drink, then came into his arms. “Very good,” she said, kissing him. “When do I see the bedroom?”

“First food, then love,” Stone said, wondering why he had said “love” instead of “sex.”

“Fair enough,” she said, grabbing an apron from a hook and starting to unpack groceries. “By the way, you haven’t heard anything from a Johnny Donato, have you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He’s been bothering me, but I think he’s too smart to bother you. He’s my husband.”

“He bothered me this afternoon,” Stone said. “He came to the house.”

Dolce closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She turned and looked at Stone, contrite. “I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stone said. “I think I scared him off with talk of the cops and the feds. I think he probably feels that he’s out of his depth.”

Dolce put some water on to boil and began chopping garlic. “Johnny has always been out of his depth,” she said, “on this side of the East River. He’s a Brooklyn boy, and he should never leave.”

“He is handsome,” Stone said. “I can see how your ad might have been turned at nineteen.”

“Trouble is, Johnny is still nineteen.” She began chopping prosciutto. “He does crazy things, then wants to be forgiven. He’s kind of a split personality – one moment, a sweet little boy, the next, a screaming maniac.”

“How long did you actually live with him?”

“Less than a month. On our last day together, I hit him in the head with a cast-iron skillet and left him on the kitchen floor for dead. He had a harder head than I thought.”

“Remind me never to make you angry,” Stone said.

Dolce looked at him sweetly. “Never make me angry,” she said. “Consider yourself reminded.”

Stone opened a bottle of white wine and poured himself a glass, sniffing it first.

“Can I try it?” she asked.

He handed her the glass.

She swirled it, sniffed it, tasted it. “It’s lovely; is it Italian?”

“It’s a Mondavi Reserve Chardonnay ’94. Not everything good is Italian.”

“Mondavi is an Italian name,” she said smugly. “By the way, speaking of Italians, Papa would like you to come to dinner in Brooklyn tomorrow night.”

“I’d love to. Who else is coming?”

“Mary Ann will be there; I’m not sure about Dino. Pick me up at the house at six?”

“Sure.”

“What is this grand-jury thing tomorrow? What are you testifying to?”

“I’m testifying that I didn’t murder a young woman.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good.”

They dined on fettucini with a sauce of prosciutto, peas, and cream. Stone liked her cooking, and he was liking her more and more. There were times when she seemed steely hard, but here, in his kitchen, she was soft and funny and lovely. And God, could she cook!

“Would you like some of Aunt Rosaria’s cheesecake?” she asked when they were finished with their pasta.

“Yes, if you could call for an ambulance first,” Stone replied. “What with the pasta sauce and the dessert, I might as well just take the cholesterol straight into a vein.”

After dinner he led her upstairs. She gave the bedroom the same inspection she had given the living room. “It’s very masculine,” she said.

“A person of the masculine persuasion lives here,” Stone reminded her.

“I am aware of that,” she said, unbuckling his belt and letting his trousers drop to the floor.

“I don’t appear to be wearing any pants,” he said.

She pulled his shorts down to his ankles, and he stepped out of them. “Just the way I like you,” she replied.

“I don’t think I’m going to have any, ah, problems tonight,” he said, unbuttoning her blouse and kissing her breasts.

“I know,” she said.