A LITTLE BIT OF SUGAR (3 page)

What was wrong with me? I knew better. The last thing I wanted to do was join the ever-growing Anthony Carboni all-female fan club.

“Okay, Gina,” Mia said as we moved along the sidewalk filled with parade goers, “out with it.”

I turned to her. “Out with what?”

She thumbed back in the direction of the parking lot we’d just left. “Anthony so has the hots for you and you keep blowing the guy off. What’s up with that?”

“He just likes trying to get a reaction from me,” I argued as we weaved around the scattered tables. “You know, it’s kind of like a game we play with each other.”

“What I wouldn’t give to have a guy as hot as Anthony playing games with me,” Carlina said with a sigh.

“I think Mia’s right,” Alisa joined in. “Anthony’s got a thing for you.”

“You guys,” I said with a groan. “You couldn’t be more wrong. There’s nothing going on between Anthony and me. Besides, I’m not even his type.”

Mia looked at me like I was crazy. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Gina,” Mia replied, her dark brown curls bouncing around her shoulders as she walked. “Let’s face it. You’re every guy’s type.”

Alisa nodded in agreement. “Mia’s right. You’re perfect. Tall and thin, and definitely not lacking in the boob department.”

“And you have hair most of the girls I know would kill to have,” Carlina added as she reached out to pluck a stray bobby pin from my hair.

I touched my hairspray lacquered curls. “They’d kill for this hair?” Hair I had always thought made me stick out like a sore thumb among all my dark-haired friends.

Mia laughed. “You’re kidding us, right?”

I wasn’t. They all had such beautiful dark hair. Hair
I
would kill for. I shook my head.

“Let me put it this way,” Carlina explained with a smile. “We go out, three brunettes and a redhead. Who do you think guys are going to notice first? You.”

Alisa sighed softly. “Why couldn’t I have been born Scottish? Maybe I should dye my hair red…”

“Don’t even think about it,” I said. “It’s weird enough living with a family who thinks they’re Italian when they’re not. I don’t need to add a friend who wants to be Scottish to the mix.”

My friends laughed.

“Come on, Gina,” Alisa said. “You know everyone in Little Florence considers your family honorary Italians. Your dad even sounds Italian - most of the time.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

It was bad enough I had to listen to my father’s fake accent at home, but he used it everywhere else he went, too. Even when we went on vacation to Williamsburg the summer after I graduated from high school. You should have seen some of the looks we got there.

We made our way through town, but not without getting stopped several times by people who wanted to congratulate me on my Sausage Queen status or compliment me on my dress.

“I feel like we’re with royalty,” Mia teased.

“Shut up,” I muttered. “I feel like an idiot. A very hungry idiot.” I knew people were just trying to be nice, but I was starving. I’d rather them stop me to give me a slice of pizza or something. No such luck.

“Hold on,” I said when we reached the large green and white canopy tent that had been set up in the parking lot between Datillio’s Hardware and Crazy Eights, the billiard hall Carlina’s uncle owned.

“What’s wrong?” Carlina asked.

“Nothing. It’s just that I promised my father I’d stop in to see how my mother’s doing in the cook-off.”

“I’ve eaten her cooking,” Mia said as we stepped in through the open tent flaps. “She’s got this competition in the bag.”

I sure hoped so. I knew how much winning this contest would mean to my mother.

“It sure smells good,” Alisa said, licking her lips.

And I thought I was hungry before. That was nothing compared to how I felt now with all those rich, spicy, tempting aromas of tomato, garlic and basil hanging in the air around us.

I looked around, taking in the row of cafeteria-style tables that were set up along each side of the tent. They were lined with simmering pots of sauces awaiting the judges’ final decision.

“Gina, honey!” My mom stepped out from behind her spot at one of the tables and came over to hug me and my friends. Then she stepped back and eyed my hair. “What happened to your tiara?”

“It’s in my purse.”

“But it looked so pretty on you.”

Did I really have to explain how weird I felt wearing a tiara around? Unlike Mia I preferred not to stand out in a crowd.

“I didn’t want it to get ruined,” I said when what I really wanted to do was throw it under a passing semi-truck.

“I don’t blame you, honey. It’s a wonderful keepsake.”

One I had no intention of keeping.

“In fact,” my mother added, “your father mentioned wanting to display your tiara at the restaurant. Isn’t that a wonderful idea?”

Oh, goody. Just what I wanted to see every time I went in to work. I guess I needed to put a little more effort into my post-graduation job search. With a degree in marketing, there were a lot of options out there for me. Problem was, I still hadn’t figured out what it really was that I wanted to do in life.

“What a great idea!” Alisa exclaimed beside me.

I shot her the ‘traitor’ look and then turned to my mom. “That would be nice, but there’s not really any place to display it.”

The restaurant walls were filled with framed pictures of anything and everything that had to do with Italy. The Colosseum, St. Peter's, the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo's
David
, The Leaning Tower of Pisa, The Vineyards of Tuscany, you name it. So as far as my father finding a place to display my tiara, I was pretty safe.

“I know I’m ruining his surprise, but your father has already ordered a display box for your tiara and will be hanging it on the wall above the cash register. That way everyone can see it on their way out.”

I could only imagine what my expression looked like at that moment. “He didn’t have to do that,” I told her, trying desperately to come up with some kind of reason why my father couldn’t do that.

“You know your father. He’s so proud of his girls and when one of you does something special he loves to boast about your accomplishment.”

But I hadn’t accomplished anything to get crowned Sausage Queen. Unless you counted ruining Anthony’s date with Lucia which led to Anthony’s nominating me.

My mom turned to my friends. “Didn’t she look good up there on back of Tony’s convertible?”

The first reply to come to mind was, “You mean the one pulling the weenie mobile?” But I managed to keep that one to myself.

My friends knew this was one discussion they were better off staying out of. They simply nodded their replies and smiled at my mom.

“So where are you girls off to now?” my mother asked.

“To the Casa di Pasta to grab a bite to eat,” I replied.

“The restaurant has been packed all day. Can you believe how many people showed up for the festival today?” she said, glancing toward the tent’s entrance.

“It’s insane out there.” I stepped over to my mom’s pot and inhaled, taking in the mouthwatering aroma of her secret sauce. “So how’s it going? Are they through with the judging yet?”

She shook her head. “Still waiting to hear.”

Alisa stepped up next to me. “Mmm...sure smells good.”

“Let’s just hope the judges think it tastes as good as it smells.” My mom glanced across the room with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I just hope the judges will be fair.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, following her gaze across the tented room.

“Ms. Gianbelli keeps flirting with Mr. Domiano,” she told us in a whisper.

Mr. Domiano was a sixty something widower who owned one of the few remaining mom and pop supermarkets in Little Florence. The sausage festival committee had asked him to be one of the three official judges for that year’s sauce cook-off.

“Mom, she’s got to be close to eighty. I doubt flirting is going to get her anywhere with Mr. Domiano.”

“I don’t know,” Alisa said with a shrug. “Some men prefer older women.”

I gave her an elbow in the side to shut her up. My mom worried enough on her own without Alisa making it worse. And Alisa was lucky Anthony wasn’t around to hear her say that.
Men liking older women
was a pretty sore subject with him. His mother had the hots for a guy not a whole lot older than Anthony.

Tina Carboni, Anthony’s mom, met Lance Lance Hottie Pants, as Mia liked to call him, at the grocery store a few months before and things heated up between the two of them really fast. My friends and I decided that Lance must have been shopping for melons that day because Anthony’s mom definitely had a pair. She shocked us all about six months before, Anthony included, by getting a boob job. The next thing we know she’s dating Lance. My mom said it was one of those midlife crisis type of relationships and that Tina would get over it soon enough.

I could only imagine how hard it must be for Anthony to accept that relationship. It wasn’t that his mother didn’t deserve to be happy. It was just weird to see her dating. She hadn’t gone out with anyone since Anthony’s father died. Now suddenly she’s dating this younger guy and hanging out with him every weekend. Not only that, but judging by the way Anthony’s mom smiled whenever I saw her lately I’d have to say that Lance was definitely ‘parking’ in her garage.

“This place is making me hungry,” Mia complained.

“Me, too,” Carla agreed with a nod.

“We’d better get going. There’s probably going to be a wait,” I told them.

“Be careful not to get anything on your dress,” my mother warned.

As if I’d ever have the need to wear it again. Not likely.

“I will,” I replied. “Good luck with the judges.”

My mother glanced across the tented room with a worried frown. “Looks like it’s time to give ‘luck’ a little helping hand.

We watched as she headed over to suck up to the judges like Mrs. Gianbelli and several of the other contestants were doing.

“Go, mom,” I muttered as she walked away. Those judges didn’t stand a chance.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Slow down,” Carlina said as we stepped from the tent. “I need a smoke.”

The rest of us made ‘eeew’ sounds as she dug around in her purse for her cigarettes.

“I thought you were giving up cigarettes,” I said in surprise.

Carlina had been smoking on and off since the ninth grade. We’d all tried it once during a sleepover at her house. ‘Once’ being the key word. I choked, Mia got nauseous, and Alisa nearly burned Carlina’s house down when she dropped her cigarette on the clothes-strewn floor. By the time we found it, lying against the ruffled bed skirt, the lace ruffle was already smoking.

“I did,” my friend replied. “But all this post-college job search shit has me a nervous wreck.”

I could understand her stress level. I was going through the same worries. Paying off college loans, trying to find my place in life. Thankfully, my stress hadn’t driven me to smoke.

I know my dad was hoping I’d use my degree to help him with the restaurant. He hoped to turn it into a chain restaurant someday. Problem was it was his dream, not mine.

Truth was I didn’t even know what I wanted my dream to be. I needed time to find myself. Not that I was lost – just confused.

“You do know you’re ruining your lungs, don’t you?” Alisa said with a frown as our friend lit up.

“And I’m sure we don’t have to remind you that smoking cigs can be hell on your skin, too” Mia added.

“Let’s not forget what it does to your breath,” I pointed out.

Carlina laughed and took a drag of her cigarette despite our protests. “You guys sound like a walking anti-cigarette ad.”

“We’re your friends,” I said. “It’s our job to protect your lungs.”

“I’m going to quit after this pack is gone. I promise. No need to get your thongs in a twist.”

Thongs - the cool girl’s panties. They were about as comfortable as straddling a clothesline naked would be. But we still wore them. Sometimes a girl had to sacrifice comfort in the name of fashion.

“We’re going to hold you to that,” I told her.

She laughed. “Don’t I know it. It was your nagging that got me to quit the last time.”

“Hey, it’s cheaper than the patch,” Mia said. “Maybe we could record our nagging on CD and you can let it play all night while you sleep. I hear that really works.”