Fried Clams and Jailbait Installment #3
I looked closely into the deep black of her eyes. The pupils reflected interrupted light caused by a slow rotation of ceiling fan above and behind me. Her hair ruby, burning, cascaded down her back. The sweet shampoo that she used mingled with her subtle perfume to create a wonderful bouquet.
I sniffed deeply then shrugged my shoulders and moved forward in my seat tipping my wine onto the white table cloth. Only the little liquid left spilled and I dabbed at the growing red spot with my napkin. Emilio appeared; cleaning the table; fluffing a new table cloth in the air. Like a magician covering his assistant in preparation for some mischievous trick, he floated the sheet on to the table, whisked it twice with the back of his hand and gave us new service and a fresh bottle of Chianti.
The girl never said a word, just looked at me with sparking eyes. I apologized weakly as I pushed non-existent crumbs from my suit pants to the floor. I shrugged again and filled her glass.
“Would you like to order now, Signore Doctor?”
“What,” she asked her voice a knife cutting through the air, “You have to ask, Pappy?”
For a brief moment Emilio stiffened, lost his composure, and then he asked gently, “Doctor?”
“Why don’t you fix something special for both of us, old friend.”
He nodded his head, smiled and walked toward the kitchen.
"My name is Maria Petruzzi."
"Ah," I said, "of course! I knew your father!"
"Yes he worked here for many years."
I had not seen him for a long time. I said so. "How is he?"
She hesitated and my eyes fell toward the necklace that she was wearing that rested gold against the white of her blouse. "You knew my mother as well."
"I did?" Hanging from the end of the chain was a tiny locket. Figured with a lovely Florentine pattern engraved on the face of it‘s heart shape.
"Yes." she said it evenly, flatly. The light gone from her eyes.
"I never even knew that Enrico was married."
"He wasn't."