“I had a drink.” A vacuous grin came to his face, his eyes as bright as a full moon—still full of so much mischief. “With your friend NickLomas.”
“Did you buy him a round?” I asked sarcastically.
“Oh yeah,” he said, his strong form teetering a bit. “A few rounds. On me.”
The group snickered.
The wind shifted and brought another smell. I moved in closer, sniffing around his chest. It wafted from all of them, a collected group aroma.
“Was Nick wearing women’s perfume? Because the last time I checked, he smelled like a man!” I snapped.
This comment caused high uproar. Men and women argued over one another, each trying to vie for the floor.
“HOLD IT!” A raspy voice in the back shouted.
Voices ceased and the night itself seemed to echo. Uncle Tito came up the line, his glasses askew on his face, his sprigs of hair wild with humidity, and his cheeks as rosy as a crushed ruby underneath his usual olive tint.
“Uncle Tito?” I said, almost in shock.
He opened his arms. “It is I, Tito Sala,piccola colomba!Do you not recognize me?”
The entire band of Italian and Irish misfits chuckled at this stale remark.
“Ooh, I know who you are,” I said, my foot starting to draw a line between the group and me.
“Okay! Okay!” He waved his hands. “This is good. This is a start. I am the chaperone, and I assure you, nothing torrid took place. I was there to protect the married men against the ravvvishhes,” he growled out the word, “of the female species. Your husband—” he stuck a thumb at him “—was attacked, with a few others. I saved the day.”
“He did not stickhistongue in any ears,” Rocco said, trying to stifle his laughter.
Others did laugh, though, and it seemed to catch like a yawn.
“Bella,” Rocco said when I turned on him. “It is a joke!” Spatters of blood stained his white sweater. One eye swelled. “Idid not even stick my tongue in any ears.”
“I must be honest,” Uncle Tito said, drawing one of the younger men in Rocco’s group forward. “I set the free women upon Livio, who has never had the sweet attention of a woman upon him before this faithful night. Uncle Tito drew him a…DIAGRAM!”
This comment was met by male laughter so loud that it seemed to shake the ground beneath my feet. All but Livio laughed. His dark skin turned as plum as a bruised tomato as he ducked into the shadows of his companions.
Uncle Tito started to sing to himself,this goes here, and that goes there, aaaah, and that can go there…
At this juncture, I decided it was time for me to bid adieu to the friends I made in the dark hour and go home with my head held high. I wasn’t sure how much longer the thin quota of grace I still owned would sustain me from doing something foolish. Such as jumping on my husband’s back and smacking him upside the head.
Brando caught my arm and I yanked it out of his grasp. That alone told me how much he had to drink, probably enough to fell a lion.
“Don't touch me,” I said low-voiced. The strike was clear, and the intent found its target.
He blinked at me, like a hoot owl, before he fell to his knees, a look I didn’t like coming over his just humorous face. “Here,” he said, presenting both of his hands to me. “I rescued your heel, princess. Kind of high, isn’t it?”
* * *
Aunt Lola was hiding in the pantry when we arrived home. She jumped out, broom in hand, posed as a weapon. The men around me screeched and hollered, some even drew their guns, even Brando started, none of them sure if she was an intruder, an Italian banshee out for blood, or a demented human being.
Turned out, she was a scorned woman in a soft pink silk nightgown, her hair up in curlers, ready for the attack. She beat the men with the broom, while she screeched, “I will tell theMAMMAS, and if not theMAMMAS, theWIVES!”
Her target was clear, though, as she bumped down the line—Tito Sala.
The old doctor ducked and dodged, trying to flatter her with his persuasive charms; when that plan became dead in the water, he stated that he had a job to do, his men were in need, and heGAVE A VOWto tend to their wounds! He said this in the same manner he had said ravvvishh.
This proclamation halted the attack, but when she noticed the kiss mark on the top of his head, she turned the broom the other way around, tapping it against her palm like an old gangster.
