limited. “What’s this about?”
He ground his teeth and repeated, though in English, “Why? Why cancel my order of Kobe beef?”
“I didn’t do that, Carl. Why would I do that?” If there had been an order, had it disappeared between the kitchen and the office?
The frying pan began to rise. “I’m Fiore’s chef! What am I to do now?”
Barbara had to diffuse the situation immediately. “Don’t worry, Carl. I’ll call Giordano’s and ask if they have any of those food items to spare.” And as Barbara began to leave she looked over at the employees that still remained. “Everything’ll be taken care of.” She raised her voice, “Get back to work!”
Standing out in the dining room, Carol joined Barbara. “What was he yelling about?”
“Someone canceled his order of steak.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah. Just what I need.”
“Maybe Carl just thought he ordered it but forgot to.”
“No, he never forgets anything.”
Carol had to trot to keep up with Barbara. When they reached the office, she closed the door as her friend sat down in her desk chair with her head in her hands.
Speaking through her hands she asked, “What’s going on here, Carol? Missing that order, well, it’s more important than Billy’s missing receipts. More and more things are going wrong! Find me that guy who nixed Carl’s order and we just might have the criminal for everything else.”
Chapter 11
Before his shift started, Silvio was called into Barbara’s office. She imagined him facing her across the desk and holding his hand out for his pink slip and his last check. Instead, he followed her down the hall humming ‘Mai Piu Cosi Lontano,’ and when they reached the office he crooned, “Signorina, please,” as he held the door open for her. She sat and beginning to blush, busied herself with moving the articles about on her desk - her phone, message pad, the pencil holder, etc. She even pushed the computer further back against the wall. She felt extremely embarrassed, especially when remembering her sexy daydreaming. Her eyes couldn’t meet his. How was she going to broach the subject of dinner at her place? If he wasn’t to be reprimanded or fired, he might feel that turning down her invitation would definitely be a reason for either happening. How could she ask him if he felt that he had to accept?
Finally she said gently to Silvio, “Now, you don’t have to. You won’t be fired if you…” Her eyes rose to his figure. He was leaning against the door with his arms crossed and still humming. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned. How dare he? He should be worried or nervous. Maybe I should fire him. She pressed her lips together and brushed the formerly neatly straightened contents of her desktop away, either to the right or left. Then she rested one elbow on the cleared area in front of her and waited for an explanation of his rude behavior. But his smile broadened as he met her eyes that had begun to narrow in annoyance. Her nostrils flared, “What’re you looking at!”
“You turn red.”
“Red? Oh, blushing.” She waved her explanation aside. “You’d blush too if you were about to ask someone to come to dinner and before you asked, they smiled like that.”
His smile faded and he looked down as if properly chastened. “I am sorry.”
She calmed herself and sat up, saying officiously, “Would you like to have a little dinner with me?” She hurried on, “I mean, Carol and her new boyfriend, John, are coming also (she hadn’t even asked her or him).” When he didn’t answer her immediately she looked away from him and mumbled, “I mean you don’t have to, you know.”
He answered, “You ask me to eat with you? Si, I am happy to eat with you. When?”
She hadn’t decided that. She scrambled for an answer. The answer was contingent on Carol’s possible availability – Friday? - and her own negligible talent in the kitchen. What would they have that she knew how to cook or should she research Italian foods or would she need to consult her one recipe book? If all else failed, she could always contact Giovanni’s. “Friday? How about Friday?” She had to ask Carol quickly.
When Silvio left, Barbara poked her head out of the door and called anxiously, “Carol?” When she didn’t answer she hurried out to the lounge. Wiping the mahogany bar, her friend raised her eyebrows and waited for her to speak. “Come to dinner Friday night?”
Carol set down the rag. “Friday… I’m sorry but John and I are going to the Blue Horse that night. I don’t think so.”
”But I invited…you know.”
Carol’s knowing look was comical. “Oh, well then. Now I don’t know what John will say but…sure.”
Chapter 12
There had been a recipe for lasagna in her one dusty and unused cookbook and Barbara, wiping the ricotta cheese off her hands with a towel, was pretty sure she had made it correctly for it smelled delightful. The lasagna would be accompanied by a green salad with champagne dressing and Pillsbury dinner rolls, both from the nearest Safeway. The packaging of the dinner rolls would be quickly disposed of even before their contents would make it to the oven. For dessert she bought a chocolate mousse from Trader Joe’s. She also sprang for a $50 bottle of 2009 Fayat. The second bottle would be a more affordable Calina merlot.
“There, Silvio will feel right at home.” She corrected herself, “Everyone should enjoy themselves.”
* * *
Standing with her back leaning against the dining room wall and holding a large glass of wine, Carol gazed around Barbara’s expensive apartment, at the eclectic furnishings – two mahogany, 1815 classical lyre side chairs, a brocaded satin settee, the large, Metro rug decorated with geometric designs, the two Chinese porcelain table lamps, the little spinet just off the bedroom door, an original Andre Masson that hanging above it, the small roll-top that stood on the other side, the two impressionistic prints that hung over the lyre chairs, and hanging over the fireplace, an original painting, “Gladiolus.” A comfortable, over-stuffed armchair covered in a 1950’s floral print that had decorated a corner of her grandmother’s living room for years was Barbara’s favorite piece of furniture, the only chair she sat upon, the only chair that was comfortable, homey. Carol’s eyes narrowed unbecomingly and she asked her friend, “How do you afford such a place on a restaurant manager’s salary?”
Barbara blinked, “Why Carol! You’ve been here before. You act like you’ve never seen it. As I’ve told you a multitude of times, I certainly couldn’t have afforded it on my salary.” She looked about, including the men in her explanation, “My grandmother willed most of her furniture to me, also some china and some trinkets. But I bought the dining room table and the roll-top…oh, and that small bench by the door.”
Carol mumbled, ”Isn’t it nice to be an only child?” but Barbara hadn’t heard the comment nor the odd jealousy in her friend’s voice for once again her eyes met Silvio’s and she was ‘gone.’
For quite a while, her friend was unusually glum. Barbara was afraid that her attitude would call a halt to her party that had hardly begun. She tried a tact that might put a smile on her friend’s face. “Carol, help me in the kitchen? I know that you can make my salad dressing a little tastier.” She whispered as Carol followed her, “You can tell me about John. You know, the exciting things.”
Her friend forced a tiny, unenthusiastic giggle but of any subject, that was her favorite.
* * *
Barbara raised her fork as a signal for her guests to begin eating and as Silvio lowered his lashes to scoop up a bite of lasagna Barbara’s stomach filled with butterflies; he was the most spectacular man she had