right. All is forgiven…on one condition…
Theresa Gallo: What, Poppy? Anything.
Angelo Marcello: You invite this young man to Sunday dinner. In two weeks.
Theresa Gallo: Poppy! No! It was just a date. Nothing.
Angelo Marcello: So you’re used to dating meaningless men? Like it’s nothing?
Theresa Gallo: That’s not what I meant, and you know it. God, you should have been an actor. Or a politician, the way you twist words around.
Angelo Marcello: Twisting words. I never heard of such a thing. Teddi Bear, do we have a deal? I’m waiting. I’m a very patient man as you know…Teddi Bear?
Theresa Gallo: Fine. A deal.
Angelo Marcello: Come give your old grandpa a kiss.
Theresa Gallo: Fine.
Angelo Marcello: Good. Now, how about gabagool. Rocco!
Rocco Marino (Chef): Yes, boss.
Angelo Marcello: A head for me and…what do you want, Teddi?
Theresa Gallo: No sheep’s head. I’ll just take manicotti, Roc.
Rocco Marino: Very good.
Angelo Marcello: What’s this? Another hundred dollars behind your ear.
Theresa Gallo: Poppy…you’re hopeless.
Angelo Marcello: Have been…ever since I laid eyes on you, kid, I told you. Ever since I laid eyes on you…
Chapter 6
“D o you think your cousin has ever killed anyone?” Lady Di and I sprawled across my bed drinking champagne and listening to her favorite CD, over…and over…and over…and over again. Which wouldn’t be so bad if her favorite singer wasn’t George Michael from his Wham! days. And for the record, Di was too young to have even known George Michael then, but it was still this oddball obsession of hers.
“Which one?” I asked.
“Which one what? How should I know who he’s killed?”
“Who who’s killed?”
“Speak English, Teddi!”
“I am! Which one?”
“Which dead body? I don’t bloody know.”
I sat up. “Di…I’ve told you George Michael is killing off valuable brain cells. What are you talking about?”
“Tony,” she sniffed, and then suddenly dissolved into tears.
“Di.” I rubbed her back. “Di? This is so unlike you. Infact…you’re scaring me. I’m sorry I snapped. You just weren’t making any sense.”
“It’s not that.” She sat up. “Have a hankie?”
“Toilet paper.”
“That’ll do.”
I got up and fetched her a roll of Charmin. “Here you go. Now what’s going on, Di? I’ve never seen you cry like this.”
“Oh…” She waved her hand up and down as if willing herself to stop the tears. “Bloody hell!”
“What?”
She took some toilet paper and blew her nose. “Promise you won’t laugh. Won’t think I’m mad. As in the queen’s English, crazy, not mad…not angry, but plain insane.”
“Sure, Di.”
“The other night, with Tony…we walked around the block three or four times. And at the end, he held my hand. And…I’m bloody over the moon for him. I wanted to invite him up here and— Well…put it this way, I couldn’t sleep that night. Or since.”
“Why didn’t you invite him up? Did you think I’d mind? That he’s my cousin? Did I mention he’s my favorite cousin? Seventeen male cousins and he’s the pick of the litter. I’d be thrilled for you. Really, I would.”
She sniffled. “It’s not that. It’s…I don’t want to fall for him if he’s a murderer. Suddenly, as we stood under a street lamp, I was sure he was going to kiss me, and my heart was just pounding out of my chest. Me…Diana Kent, who was kissed by the second grade and lost her virginity the year they packed me off to boarding school—lost it to the school riding instructor. Me…heart pounding like a nervous school-girl. And I realized what it is you’ve been telling me all along.”
“What have I been telling you along? That you’re an impossible slob? That you can’t even boil water?” I tried to make her laugh. “That your views on George Michael—who is gay, dear—border on sickness. You can’t change him, Di.”
“Shut up, Teddi. No…about how complicated your
Theresa Gallo: What, Poppy? Anything.
Angelo Marcello: You invite this young man to Sunday dinner. In two weeks.
Theresa Gallo: Poppy! No! It was just a date. Nothing.
Angelo Marcello: So you’re used to dating meaningless men? Like it’s nothing?
Theresa Gallo: That’s not what I meant, and you know it. God, you should have been an actor. Or a politician, the way you twist words around.
Angelo Marcello: Twisting words. I never heard of such a thing. Teddi Bear, do we have a deal? I’m waiting. I’m a very patient man as you know…Teddi Bear?
Theresa Gallo: Fine. A deal.
Angelo Marcello: Come give your old grandpa a kiss.
Theresa Gallo: Fine.
Angelo Marcello: Good. Now, how about gabagool. Rocco!
Rocco Marino (Chef): Yes, boss.
Angelo Marcello: A head for me and…what do you want, Teddi?
Theresa Gallo: No sheep’s head. I’ll just take manicotti, Roc.
Rocco Marino: Very good.
Angelo Marcello: What’s this? Another hundred dollars behind your ear.
Theresa Gallo: Poppy…you’re hopeless.
Angelo Marcello: Have been…ever since I laid eyes on you, kid, I told you. Ever since I laid eyes on you…
Chapter 6
“D o you think your cousin has ever killed anyone?” Lady Di and I sprawled across my bed drinking champagne and listening to her favorite CD, over…and over…and over…and over again. Which wouldn’t be so bad if her favorite singer wasn’t George Michael from his Wham! days. And for the record, Di was too young to have even known George Michael then, but it was still this oddball obsession of hers.
“Which one?” I asked.
“Which one what? How should I know who he’s killed?”
“Who who’s killed?”
“Speak English, Teddi!”
“I am! Which one?”
“Which dead body? I don’t bloody know.”
I sat up. “Di…I’ve told you George Michael is killing off valuable brain cells. What are you talking about?”
“Tony,” she sniffed, and then suddenly dissolved into tears.
“Di.” I rubbed her back. “Di? This is so unlike you. Infact…you’re scaring me. I’m sorry I snapped. You just weren’t making any sense.”
“It’s not that.” She sat up. “Have a hankie?”
“Toilet paper.”
“That’ll do.”
I got up and fetched her a roll of Charmin. “Here you go. Now what’s going on, Di? I’ve never seen you cry like this.”
“Oh…” She waved her hand up and down as if willing herself to stop the tears. “Bloody hell!”
“What?”
She took some toilet paper and blew her nose. “Promise you won’t laugh. Won’t think I’m mad. As in the queen’s English, crazy, not mad…not angry, but plain insane.”
“Sure, Di.”
“The other night, with Tony…we walked around the block three or four times. And at the end, he held my hand. And…I’m bloody over the moon for him. I wanted to invite him up here and— Well…put it this way, I couldn’t sleep that night. Or since.”
“Why didn’t you invite him up? Did you think I’d mind? That he’s my cousin? Did I mention he’s my favorite cousin? Seventeen male cousins and he’s the pick of the litter. I’d be thrilled for you. Really, I would.”
She sniffled. “It’s not that. It’s…I don’t want to fall for him if he’s a murderer. Suddenly, as we stood under a street lamp, I was sure he was going to kiss me, and my heart was just pounding out of my chest. Me…Diana Kent, who was kissed by the second grade and lost her virginity the year they packed me off to boarding school—lost it to the school riding instructor. Me…heart pounding like a nervous school-girl. And I realized what it is you’ve been telling me all along.”
“What have I been telling you along? That you’re an impossible slob? That you can’t even boil water?” I tried to make her laugh. “That your views on George Michael—who is gay, dear—border on sickness. You can’t change him, Di.”
“Shut up, Teddi. No…about how complicated your
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